HOUSE  OF 
EGRENONT 


7 


V. 


-»^  *^-^ 


OLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELI 


^>(.,.,t^  /f^n^ 


A  exes  c.  ;ks 

140  PACIP:  :.  MUB 

tOmi.BEACH.  CALiP. 


The  House  of  Egremont 


KOGtR  WALKED  AROUND  THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  BUSH    .   .    .   HAT  IN  HAND 


The 

House  of  Egremont 

A  Novel 

By 

Molly  Elliot  Seawell 


ILLUSTRATED    BY    C.    M.    RELYEA 


New  York 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons 

1900 


Copyright,  igoo 
By  Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


Dramatic  and  all  other  rights 
reserved 


UNIVERSITY    PRESS      •      JOHN  WILSON 
AND    SON      •      CAMBRIDGE,      U.S.A. 


Contents 


Chapter  Page 

I.  In  which  Roger  Egremont  makes  his  Bow  to 

THE  World 1 

II.   Roger  Egremont  makes  intimate  Acquaintance 

WITH   TWO  Persons,  who  exercise  great  but 

WIDELY   differing   INFLUENCES    UPON    HIS   LiFE, 

—  TO  wit,  THE  Devil  and  Miss  Bess  Lukens        25 

III.  Once  more  at  Egremont 49 

IV.  Showing  how  Roger  Egremont  falls  into  Good 

Company 62 

V.   The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade  on  the  Ter- 
race, and  what  came  of  it 87 

VI.   "  Your  Lover  is  ever  in  a  bad  Way  when  the 

other  Woman  appears  " 121 

VII.  In   which  Roger   Egremont    meets  with    both 

Good  and  III  Fortune 148 

VIII.  Wherein  the  Princess  Michelle  is  put  in  the 
Way  of   securing  the  Destiny  of  which  she 

HAS  long   dreamed 172 

IX.   "I  wish  you  to  come  with  me  "   .  ....  193 

X.   Ho!  for  Orlamunde 217 

XL  The  Journey,  and  some   Confidences  made   by 

Roger  Egremont  to  the  Princess  Michelle  235 

XII.    "  You   HAVE   BROUGHT   ME   TO    THE   GaTE   OF   PARA- 
DISE, AND   HAVE    SHOWN   ME   THE   GlORY   OF    THE 

Beauty  within  —  and  then  have  thrust  me 
away!" 256 


2061975 


Contents 


Chapter  Page 

XIII.  The   Palace   of   Monplaisir  —  the  Abode  of 

THE    MOST   High,   most   Mighty,   and    most 
Puissant   Prince  of   Orlamunde     ....     280 

XIV.  Roger  Egremont  has  a  little  Adventure  in 

a   Garden  at  Neerwinden  and  becomes  a 
Major  in  the  finest  Brigade  in  the  World    801 
XV.   In  which  an  Egremont  has  the  Happiness  of 
returning  to  his  Native  Land  —  and  what 

befell  him  there 328 

XVI.   Once  more  in  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans    .     .     352 
XVIL  In  which  Captain  Roger  Egremont  acts  as 
Coachman,   and   Lieutenant-General    the 

Duke  of  Berwick  as  Footman 375 

XVIII.    Roger    Egremont   has   his   last   Fight  with 

the  Devil 401 

XIX.  If  a   Man  giveth  his  Life  for  his  Friends, 

he  can  do  no  more 424 

XX.   "  Hugo  Stein  is  my  Enemy,  and  I  am  his,  as 

long  as  we  both  shall  live" 452 

XXL  Wherein  is  set  forth  the  Conclusion  of  a 
Man  who  always  feared  God,  and  always 
TOOK  HIS  OWN  Part 479 


VI 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAOK 

Roger  walked  around  the  other  side  of  the  bush 

.   .   .  HAT  IN  HAND Frontispiece 

"  Here  are  pens,  ink,  and  paper  " 40 

Then,  walking  down  the   stairway,  came  the  poor 

King 218 

They  wait  to  bid  the  Princess  good-night  ....     296 
Dicky  whistled  to  Bold,  who  came  and  licked  his 

HAND 334 

EOGEB   raised   THE   PISTOL   AND   FIRED 400 


THE 

HOUSE  OF  EGREMONT 

CHAPTER  I 

TN"  "WHICH  BOGEK   EGBEMONT  MAKES   HIS  BOW  TO 
THE   WOBLD 

THE  fortunes  of  the  House  of  Egremont  had  their 
first  great  bloom  through  the  agency  of  a  platter 
of  beans  J  and  through  a  platter  of  beans  more  than  a 
hundred  years  later  the  elder  branch  was  ousted  from 
one  of  the  greatest  estates  in  England,  became  wan- 
derers and  gentlemen  adventurers  throughout  Europe, 
fought  in  quarrels  not  their  own,  served  sovereigns  of 
foreign  countries,  knew  the  dazzling  heights  of  glory, 
and  fell  into  the  mire  of  penury  and  disrepute.  An 
Egremont  had  the  ear  of  kings,  and  another  Egremont 
mounted  the  gallows.  They  mated  sometimes  with 
princes  and  dukes,  and  sometimes  they  were  thought 
fit  to  mate  with  the  daughters  of  their  gaolers.  Some 
of  them  were  great  at  play,  and  met  and  vanquished 
the  best  players  of  Europe  on  the  field  of  the  cloth  of 
green;  other  Egremonts  were  ascetics  and  wore  hair 
shirts  next  their  skins,  and  fasted  and  prayed  ex- 
tremely. They  seemed  the  favorite  playthings  of  des- 
tiny, which  had  a  showman's  way  of  exhibiting  them  in 
all  the  ups  and  downs,  the  glories  and  shames,  of  human 
vicissitudes. 

I  1 


The  House  of  Egremont 

The  fii-st  trick  she  played  them  was  to  their  advan- 
tage. John  Egremont,  a  handsome,  red-blooded  country 
squire,  of  infinite  assurance,  happened  to  catch  the  eye 
of  Queen  Elizabeth  when  she  was  befooling  the  world 
with  the  notion  that  she,  at  the  age  of  forty,  would 
marry  the  boy  Duke  of  Anjou,  twenty  years  younger 
than  herself.  Part  of  this  play  was  that  the  Queen 
should  pine  and  lose  her  appetite,  and  swear  wildly 
one  day  that  she  would  never  marry  a  man  who  might 
"flout  the  old  woman,"  and  then  proceed  to  write  the 
Duke  a  love-letter  which  would  shame  a  dairy-maid. 
The  Duke,  having  tired  of  the  Avhole  business,  took  ship 
for  France,  while  the  Queen  took  to  her  bed  at  her 
palace  of  Westminster  and  moaned  and  wept  inces- 
santly. Nothing  would  she  eat.  John  Egremont,  being 
in  the  Queen's  anteroom  when  one  of  her  maids  came 
out  lamenting  that  the  Queen  could  eat  nothing,  ran 
down  into  the  kitchen,  snatched  up  a  platter  of  beans, 
the  first  thing  on  which  he  could  lay  hands,  and  was 
about  to  run  away  with  it.  The  cooks,  however,  were 
valiant  men  though  humble,  and  they  fell  upon  him 
with  basting  ladles  and  rolling-pins  and  turnspits,  so 
that  John  Egremont  had  to  draw  his  sword.  This  he 
did,  slashing  out  right  and  left,  and  pinking  more  than 
one  of  them ;  but  nevertheless,  carrying  his  beans  high 
above  his  head,  he  escaped  from  the  mUee^  and  flew 
back  to  the  Queen's  apartments.  Pushing  his  way  into 
her  presence,  —  a  thing  easily  forgiven  by  her  when  the 
man  was  young  and  comely,  —  he  presented  the  beans  on 
his  knees  to  her.  The  Queen,  lying  wrapped  in  a  great 
mantle,  with  her  face  in  her  hands,  was  persuaded  to 
turn  and  look  at  the  kneeling  Egremont.  Something 
flashed  from  her  cold  bright  eyes  into  his  cold  bright 
eyes,  and  the  daughter  of  Henry  the  Eighth  suddenly 

2 


Roger  Egremont  Makes  His  Bow 

burst  into  that  loud,  ringing  Tudor  laugh,  which  was 
like  the  shout  of  a  clarion.  Whether  it  was  the  homeli- 
ness of  the  dish,  or  the  expression  of  knowingness  in 
Egremont's  handsome  eyes,  or  that  she  was  tired  of  the 
play,  is  all  one.  She  ate  the  beans,  —  Egremont  mean- 
while telling  her  in  moving  language  of  his  fight  with 
the  cooks,  and  showing  her  his  mantle,  which  bore  the 
marks  of  the  greasy  encounter.  At  this,  Elizabeth  Tudor 
laughed  louder  than  ever ;  and  when  Egremont  kissed 
her  beautiful  white  hands,  after  she  had  washed  them 
in  a  silver  basin,  she  fingered  fondly  the  short  curls 
upon  his  neck,  as  she  was  wont  to  do  with  handsome 
young  fellows.  From  that  day  to  the  time,  six  months 
before  her  death,  when  she  fingered  weakly  the  curls  on 
the  neck  of  Egremont's  son  —  a  handsome  young  man  — 
as  she  had  fingered  his  father's,  and  laughed  feebly  the 
old  Tudor  laugh,  she  was  the  sturdy  friend  of  the 
Egremonts.  It  mattered  little  that  they  were  staunch 
believers  in  the  old  religion,  and  that  the  Egremont 
dames  had  mass  daily  in  a  secret  chapel,  and  at  their 
chief  estate  of  Egremont  was  a  "priest's  hole,"  where 
the  priest  was  hidden  when  persecution  raged.  Eliza- 
beth Tudor  was  the  only  one  of  her  race  who  was  not 
consumed  with  a  rage  for  religion  ;  but  she,  being  a  per- 
fectly good-natured  sceptic,  merely  laughed  in  her 
sleeve  at  those  who  risked  their  persons  and  estates  for 
conscience'  sake.  True,  the  queer  Elizabethan  religion 
afforded  a  very  good  club  wherewith  to  pound  those 
subjects,  otherwise  distasteful  or  insubordinate  to 
her  Majesty,  but  men  as  comely,  well-born,  and 
debonair  as  John  Egremont  were  at  liberty  to  believe 
what  they  liked,  as  long  as  they  came  to  court,  flattered 
the  Queen,  and  made  her  great  presents.  So  she  con- 
tinued  to    give   profitable    places   to    the    Egremonts, 


The  House  of  Egremont 

swearing  flatly  to  her  lords  in  council  her  great,  mouth- 
filling  oath,  "  By  God's  Son !  "  that  Egremont,  to  her 
certain  knowledge,  had  conformed  to  the  last  new 
statutes,  and  to  the  very  last  days  of  her  life  remained 
a  good  friend  and  protector  to  that  family. 

The  Egremonts  seemed  to  be  gifted  with  the  art  of 
pleasing  kings.  They  were  as  much  in  favor  with 
James  the  First  as  they  had  been  with  the  mighty 
princess  whose  mantle  fitted  Scotch  James  as  well  as 
royal  robes  fit  a  sign-post.  He  played  the  fool  with 
them  as  he  did  with  all  his  favorites,  but  put  money 
in  their  purses  for  it,  and  their  estates  grew.  Poor 
stubborn  Charles  the  First  found  the  Egremonts  loyal 
to  him  in  his  endeavors  to  rule  the  English  people  as 
they  did  not  wish  to  be  ruled ;  and,  although  they 
suffered  somewhat  at  the  hands  of  Cromwell,  the  second 
Charles  found  them  to  his  heart's  liking,  and  repaid 
them  twice  over. 

There  were  many  Egremonts  then,  younger  sons  of 
younger  sons,  and  they  held  together  strongly  in  certain 
things,  and  differed  angrily  and  loudly  upon  others.  They 
were  not  a  race  of  milksops,  but  sinewy  men  and  women, 
red-blooded  like  their  Elizabethan  ancestor.  Their  motto 
was,  "  Fear  God,  and  take  your  own  part."  Some  of  them 
feared  God,  but  all  of  them  took  their  own  part  with 
firmness  and  determination.  Although  they  held  firmly 
to  their  religion,  they  frequently  took  liberties  with  the 
Decalogue ;  but  having  received  great  benefits  from  their 
sovereigns,  repaid  it  with  a  handsome  loyalty. 

The  head  of  the  house  in  the  merry  days  of  Charles 
the  Second  was  a  certain  John  Egremont,  comely  and 
debonair,  like  his  forbears,  but  cold  of  heart  and  a  cal- 
culator. Like  most  men  of  that  type,  his  loves  were 
few  and  strange.     He  footed  it  at  court  with  the  best 

4 


Roger  Egremont  Makes  His  Bow 

of  them,  was  good  at  playing  and  at  fighting,  and 
thought  with  King  Charles  that  God  would  not  forever 
damn  a  man  for  taking  a  little  pleasure  out  of  the  way. 
He  was  rather  proud  of  his  reputation  as  a  sad  dog,  and 
it  was  in  no  way  impaired  during  a  brief  married  life. 
The  yoke  was  light,  and  was  soon  lifted  by  death ;  so, 
within  a  year  or  two  John  Egremont  was  back  at  court, 
leaving  a  little  motherless  boy  at  Egremont.  Then  he 
took  a  notion  to  make  the  grand  tour,  —  a  quarrel  with 
Lady  Castlemaine  rendering  it  very  necessary  that  he 
should  absent  himself  from  England  for  a  time.  It 
was  three  years  before  he  returned,  but  my  Lady  Cas- 
tlemaine had  not  cooled  off,  nor  did  she  during  the 
remainder  of  John  Egremont's  life. 

The  next  seven  years  were  spent  by  him  in  back- 
stairs negotiations  to  get  back  to  court,  and  in  long 
absences  on  the  Continent;  and  meanwhile  his  son 
and  heir,  the  little  Roger,  led  at  Egremont  the  most  neg- 
lected life  possible,  so  far  as  his  father  was  concerned. 
He  had,  it  is  true,  a  tutor,  a  guzzling,  tipsy  creature, 
whom  the  boy  despised  and  hated,  and  from  whom  he 
would  learn  nothing.  The  tutor,  however,  secure  in 
the  indifference  of  the  lad's  father,  troubled  himself  not 
at  all  about  Roger's  learning,  or  want  of  learning  ;  and 
so  the  boy  grew  up  as  ignorant  as  a  clod  concerning 
books,  but  not  so  ignorant  about  some  other  im- 
portant things.  John  Egremont's  absences  from  Eng- 
land, and  his  stony  nature,  left  him  but  few  friends, 
even  among  his  own  kindred,  thus  breaking  the  tradi- 
tions of  his  family.  The  little  Roger,  therefore,  was 
reared  in  loneliness,  except  for  the  companionship  of 
one  other  lad,  a  far-off  cousin,  Dicky  Egremont.  Dicky 
was  almost  as  ill  off  for  friends  as  Roger,  his  nearest 
relative   being  a   paral}i;ic  old   grandfather,  who   had 

5 


The  House  of  Egremont 

served  under  Prince  Rupert,  and  eked  out  an  existence 
in  what  was  little  more  than  a  cottage  on  the  Egremont 
estate.  The  two  boys  were  perpetually  together,  and 
had  no  other  company  but  servants.  Roger  could  not 
be  called  a  handsome  lad,  although  he  had  ever  a 
straight,  slender  figure,  fine  white  teeth  in  his  wide 
mouth,  and  a  profusion  of  beautifully  curling  light- 
brown  hair.  But  Dicky  was  rather  a  homely  little  boy, 
in  spite  of  his  apple  cheeks  and  his  dimples  and  a  very 
roguish  smile ;  and  although  only  two  years  younger 
than  Roger,  he  always  seemed  very  much  more  so,  and 
Roger  early  acquired  the  habit  of  speaking  to  him  and 
of  him  as  if  Dicky  were  an  infant,  and  he,  Roger,  were 
an  hundred  years  old.  This  was  so  marked  that  Roger, 
at  eleven  years  of  age,  thought  the  nine-year-old  Dicky 
too  young  to  share  many  of  his  thoughts  and  dreams,  — 
for  he  thought  and  dreamed,  although  he  did  not  read 
and  could  scarcely  write  his  name. 

But,  though  a  very  ignorant  boy,  he  was  so  far  from 
uncouth  and  witless  that  his  ignorance  was  anything 
but  obvious.  He  had  by  nature  a  strong  and  acute 
understanding,  and  showed  even  as  a  little  lad  great 
art  in  concealing  the  defects  of  his  education.  He  had, 
moreover,  a  natural  grace,  a  careless  sweetness  in  his 
air  that  made  him  the  pet  of  the  ladies  in  the  drawing- 
room  on  the  rare  occasions  when  he  saw  them,  as  well 
as  the  favorite  of  Hoggins  the  cook,  and  Molly  the 
housemaid.  And  though  most  of  his  days  were  passed 
with  game-keepers  and  stablemen,  and  his  evenings 
generally  in  the  housekeeper's  room,  Roger  never  for- 
got, or  allowed  these  people  to  forget,  that  he  knew  the 
difference  between  the  condition  of  gentle  and  simple. 
Indeed,  the  servants,  out  of  pity  for  his  forlorn  child- 
hood, had  tried  to  console  him  by  telling  him  that  all 

6 


Roger  Egremont  Makes  His  Bow 

the  broad  lands  of  Egremont  and  the  stately  Elizabethan 
house  would  one  day  be  his.  It  sank  deep  in  the 
boy's  mind,  and  he  early  acquired  an  idea  of  the  beauty 
and  value  of  his  home  and  a  passionate  affection  for  it, 
that  strongly  colored  all  his  later  life.  And  Egremont 
was  worthy  to  be  loved.  The  manor-house  lay  upon  a 
breezy  upland,  with  the  faint  blue  line  of  the  hill  coun- 
try between  it  and  the  salt  sea  on  the  one  side  ;  and 
on  the  other,  afar  off,  was  the  salt  sea  again,  each  but 
little  more  than  a  day's  ride  away.  The  land  was  rich 
and  well  wooded  and  watered.  A  little  brawling  river 
ran  through  the  estate,  and  fed  the  artificial  lake  and 
fish  pond  near  the  house,  on  which  swans  and  ducks 
floated  and  made  their  reedy  habitations.  The  woods 
of  Egremont  were  celebrated,  and  particularly  a  great 
avenue  of  oaks,  three  miles  long,  standing  in  ranks  like 
soldiers  at  parade,  was  the  envy  of  all  the  timber  mer- 
chants in  the  south  of  England.  John  Egremont,  in 
the  year  of  the  Restoration,  planted  two  thousand 
young  oaks ;  the  timber,  already  immensely  valuable, 
was  likely  to  become  more  so. 

The  park  held  a  thousand  acres,  through  which  the 
dun  deer  ran,  and  where  other  wild  creatures  and 
many  birds  found  undisturbed  cover.  It  was  in  this 
park  that  Roger  Egremont  spent  his  boyhood  and  early 
manhood.  The  house,  a  vast  parallelogram,  had  been 
built  by  that  John  Egremont  of  the  bean-platter.  It 
was  full  of  tall  windows;  the  Elizabethan  architects, 
being  new  to  glass,  used  it  so  lavishly  that  many 
Elizabethan  mansions  were  little  more  than  glass  houses. 
There  was  a  fine  hall  in  the  Egremont  house,  and  a 
library  with  a  respectable  number  of  books  in  it,  and 
much  quaint  carved  woodwork,  but  the  lad,  Roger  Eg- 
remont, was  almost  a  stranger  in  the  house,  so  little 

7 


The  House  of  Egremont 

did  he  live  in  it,  except  to  sleep  in  a  little  bedroom  he 
had  on  the  first  floor,  and  to  take  his  meals  in  a  grimy 
den  habited  by  the  tutor.  For  at  the  break  of  day, 
every  morning,  fair  or  foul,  Roger  was  out  of  doors, 
looking  after  his  rabbit  hutches  and  all  his  various 
contrivances  for  trapping  wild  creatures,  and  running 
about  the  stables  backing  the  colts,  cultivating  the 
acquaintance  of  the  great,  mild-eyed  cows,  as  they  stood 
in  line  to  be  milked,  listening  to  the  call  of  birds  and 
domestic  fowls,  and  learning  to  imitate  them,  watch- 
ing the  budding  or  the  falling  of  the  leaf,  feeding  the 
ducks  in  the  river,  and  gravely  studying  by  the  hour 
the  antics  of  the  fish  in  the  fish  pond.  In  short,  the 
great  book  of  nature  lay  open  before  him,  and  he  read 
it  diligently,  and  learned  to  understand  it  well,  but  of 
other  books  and  of  men  he  knew  pitifully  little. 

In  these  hours  of  incessant  bodily  and  actually  men- 
tal activity,  little  Dicky  was  generally  his  companion, 
and  it  pleased  the  older  boy's  vanity  to  tell  him  the 
magnificent  things  to  be  done  for  him  when  Roger 
should  reign  at  Egremont.  Yet,  when  the  servants 
talked  before  him,  as  they  often  did,  of  "  when  master 
be  dead,"  —  an  event  which  they  rather  anticipated,  — 
Roger  would  fly  into  a  rage  and  cry,  — 

"  Say  no  more  to  me  of  that.  Do  you  think  I  want 
my  father  to  die  ?  " 

To  this,  Molly  the  housemaid  pertly  replied,  — 

"La,  Master  Roger,  he  be  dead  enough  a'ready  to 
all  of  us." 

Roger's  feelings  toward  his  father  were  strangely 
contradictory.  The  boy  had  a  tender  and  loving  heart, 
and  it  warmed  at  the  name  of  father.  He  admired  his 
father's  portrait,  taken  in  a  splendid  court  dress,  with 
long,  dark  locks  flowing  on  his  shoulders.     And  on  the 

8 


Roger  Egremont  Makes  His  Bow 

few  and  short  visits  of  John  Egremont  at  his  home, 
the  lad  always  ran  to  meet  him  with  delight.  But  he 
was  always  received  coldly  and  carelessly,  and  he  al- 
ways had,  in  consequence,  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  very 
much  like  hatred.  For  his  mother's  memory  the  boy 
had  a  fond  affection,  and  loved  to  hear  the  story  of  her 
short  life  under  the  roof  of  Egremont. 

So  life  went  on  until  Roger  was  twelve  years  old, 
when  one  day  he  got  a  letter  from  his  father,  —  the  first 
in  his  life.  He  could  not  read  it  alone,  and  he  would 
not  take  it  to  his  tutor,  so  he  went  after  little  Dicky, 
who  was  an  expert  at  reading  and  writing.  And  the 
news  which  Dicky  read  to  him,  sitting  on  the  bench  by 
the  fish  pond,  was  that  John  Egremont  was  coming 
home  to  live,  and  would  bring  with  him  a  younger  son, 
Hugo,  the  child  of  a  second  marriage  made  in  Ger- 
many; and  the  father  hoped  the  two  brothers  would 
be  good  friends. 

The  two  lads  gazed  into  each  other's  eyes  with  con- 
sternation,—  staggered  and  alarmed  at  the  notion  of 
the  new  boy.  Roger,  however,  had  a  good  courage, 
and  spoke  up  sturdily. 

"  At  least,  I  am  the  oldest  and  the  biggest ;  and  if 
he  will  not  behave,  I  can  trounce  him,  that  I  will." 

Some  time  after,  one  morning  as  Roger  was  re- 
turning to  the  house  for  breakfast  after  a  gallop  on  his 
pony  since  daybreak,  he  was  seized  at  the  buttery  door 
by  Molly  the  housemaid,  who  burst  out,  — 

"Your  dad's  come.  Master  Roger,  and  another  boy 
with  him,  as  master  told  the  housekeeper  was  two  year 
younger  nor  you.     It 's  your  new  brother  —  ha  !  ha  I  " 

Molly's  laughter  was  anything  but  merry,  and  her 
news  made  Roger  an  unresisting  victim  in  her  hands, 
while  she  scrubbed  his  face  and  hands  violently,  curled 

9 


The  House  of  Egremont 

his  long  light  hair,  and  whisked  him  into  his  best  suit, 
she  clacking  angrily  meanwhile  about  "lads  as  was 
said  to  be  ten,  and  any  fool  could  see  warn't  a  day 
under  fourteen." 

And  then  Roger,  very  white  and  very  straight,  walked 
to  the  hall  where  his  father  and  his  newly  arrived  brother 
awaited  him. 

Some  premonition  of  evil  flashed  into  the  boy's  young 
soul  as  he  stood  for  five  minutes  outside  the  door,  be- 
fore he  could  screw  his  courage  up  to  opening  it,  and  he 
was  not  a  boy  of  faint  heart  either.  At  the  end  of  the 
hall,  by  the  fireplace,  sat  his  father  and  a  strange  boy. 
Roger  advanced,  still  pale,  but  graceful  and  outwardly  at 
ease.  As  he  approached,  his  father  rose,  and  said  in  the 
kindest  tone  that  Roger  had  ever  heard  from  his  lips, — 

"  Roger,  this  is  your  younger  brother,  Hugo  ;  I  hope 
you  will  be  good  friends." 

To  have  an  unknown  brother  sprung  on  one  would 
have  disconcerted  an  older  and  wiser  person  than  poor 
little  Roger  Egremont.  He  became  still  whiter  as  his 
dark  eyes  grew  larger  and  darker,  and  he  glanced  un- 
easily from  his  father  to  the  new  brother,  without 
making  any  advance  at  all.  Hugo,  a  tall,  well-grown 
boy,  was  the  image  of  his  father,  and  Roger  made  the 
alarming  discovery  that  Hugo  was  much  bigger  than 
he,  and  instead  of  his  licking  Hugo,  Hugo  would  be 
quite  able  to  lick  him.  The  two  lads  looked  at  each 
other  for  a  moment,  and  then  Hugo,  slipping  off  his  chair, 
ran  forward  and  kissed  his  half-brother  on  both  cheeks, 
French  fashion. 

To  be  kissed  at  all  was  disconcerting  to  Roger,  and  to 
be  kissed  by  another  boy  was  an  insult  and  a  humilia- 
tion. Roger's  reception,  therefore,  of  these  endearments 
was  a  vigorous  push. 

10 


Roger  Egremont  Makes  His  Bow 

"  I  '11  shake  hands  if  you  like,"  he  said  sulkily,  "  but 
I  '11  have  no  kissing." 

John  Egremont,  secretly  enraged,  could  not  but  re- 
member that  any  English  boy  would  resent  such  an 
advance.  He  said,  therefore,  without  any  exhibition  of 
wrath :  "  Your  brother  has  been  brought  up  abroad,  and 
does  not  know  English  manners,  although  he  speaks 
English.  But  you  two  should  have  fine  times  together. 
Hugo  will  live  here  after  this." 

The  two  boys  eyed  each  other  distrustfully.  It  vexed 
their  father  to  see  how  much  taller  and  bigger  was 
Hugo,  the  alleged  younger,  than  Roger,  Hugo  was 
a  handsomer  boy,  but  Roger  had  more  the  air  of  a 
gentleman. 

They  shook  hands,  nevertheless,  and  Hugo,  making  a 
pirouette,  said  something  in  French  and  something  in 
German  to  his  father,  quite  as  if  they  were  equals: 
and  John  Egremont  laughed,  while  Hugo  burst  into 
the  fragment  of  a  song  about  Ce  monstre  lie  which 
seemed  to  tickle  his  father  mightily. 

All  this  time  a  thousand  maddening  questions  were 
chasing  each  other  through  Roger's  disturbed  mind. 
Had  he  a  stepmother,  and  any  more  brothers  and 
sisters  ?  He  had  an  immediate  opportunity  of  finding 
this  out,  for  their  father  at  once  dismissed  them,  think- 
ing they  would  the  more  speedily  become  friends  alone. 

Once  outside,  upon  the  terrace  that  led  down  to  the 
fish  pond,  Roger  turned  to  Hugo,  and  asked,  — 

"  Where  is  your  mother  ?  " 

"  In  Germany,"  replied  Hugo,  with  much  readiness ; 
and  then,  stopping  still  with  a  frightened  look,  he 
caught  Roger  by  the  arm  and  cried,  — 

"Oh,  no,  no  1 — they  told  me  to  say  she  was  dead, 
and  I  forgot.     Don't  tell  my  father,  please." 

11 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"I  am  no  telltale,"  replied  Roger,  with  ready  con- 
tempt; "  somebody  told  you  to  tell  a  lie  and  you  told 
the  truth." 

Hugo  was  not  pleased  at  the  frankness  of  this  speech, 
but  he  had  been  warned  by  his  father  concerning  the 
code  of  morals  and  manners  he  was  likely  to  meet  with 
among  English  boys,  and  privately  concluded  they  were 
all  a  pack  of  brutes. 

Nevertheless,  the  boys  made  some  efforts  at  a  good 
understanding,  in  which  they  were  mutually  helped 
by  little  Dicky,  who  presently  turned  up.  Dicky  loved 
Roger  better  than  anything  in  the  world,  and  was 
secretly  cut  to  the  heart  by  Roger's  inferiority  in  cer- 
tain things  to  Hugo,  which  soon  became  apparent. 
For  Hugo  was  a  miracle  of  boyish  accomplishments. 
He  could  chatter  both  French  and  German,  could  sing 
in  three  languages  and  dance  in  four,  could  play  the 
viol  da  gamba,  and  draw,  and  knew  the  sword  exercise 
perfectly  on  foot.  He  could  not,  however,  do  it  on 
horseback,  and  was  quite  unlearned  about  horses,  dogs, 
and  fowling-pieces.  Here,  Roger  excelled ;  and  Dicky 
suggested  timidly  to  him  that  he  should  learn  some 
things  of  Hugo,  and  in  return  teach  Hugo  to  ride.  This 
sensible  advice  both  boys  took,  and  got  on  the  better 
for  it.  Yet  never  were  two  creatures  more  dissimilar. 
Roger  fought  when  he  was  angry,  Hugo  quarrelled; 
in  that  lay  enormous  differences. 

Soon,  however,  they  were  thrown  so  completely  upon 
each  other  for  companionship  that  perforce  they  were 
compelled  to  become  playmates,  or  have  no  playmates 
at  all.  For  to  John  Egremont's  infinite  rage  and  dis- 
gust, Hugo  was  coldly  looked  upon  by  all  the  Egremont 
kindred,  and  by  the  gentry  round  about  Egremont.  A 
tale  was  industriously  circulated  that  this  lad's  mother, 

12 


Roger  Egremont  Makes  His  Bow 

a  certain  Madame  Stein,  had  neither  married  John 
Egremont  nor  died,  but  was  still  flourishing  in  Ger- 
many. As  for  Hugo's  being  younger  than  Roger,  his 
appearance  flatly  contradicted  his  father's  assertions, 
and  the  story  which  John  Egremont  had  concocted 
with  infinite  pains  found  no  believers.  The  Egremonts 
were  angered  by  the  giving  of  their  name  to  the  boy. 
The  gentry  would  not  let  their  sons  associate  with 
Hugo  ;  and,  as  Hugo  was  the  one  object  dear  to  .Tohn 
Egremont's  hard  heart,  he  bitterly  resented  the  attitude 
of  his  world  toward  his  favorite  child.  And  as  it 
refused  to  accept  this  favorite  child,  John  Egremont 
decided  that  it  should  not  accept  his  other  son;  so 
Roger  was  forbidden  to  go  where  Hugo  was  not  invited. 
As  Hugo  was  never  invited  anywhere,  the  two  boys 
stayed  very  closely  at  home.  John  Egremont  was 
kinder  to  Roger  than  he  had  ever  been  before,  because, 
looking  into  the  future,  he  saw  that  Hugo  might  profit 
some  day  by  his  brother's  good- will.  But  there  was  no 
disguising  the  blind  partiality  of  the  father  for  the  boy 
who  was  like  him.  Hugo  was  upon  terms  of  familiarity 
with  his  father  that  were  simply  amazing  in  that  age 
of  extreme  filial  respect  and  obedience.  Roger  never 
dared  the  smallest  liberty.  It  made  his  boyish  heart 
swell  with  anguish  when  he  heard  his  father  gravely 
discussing  with  Hugo,  as  if  Hugo  were  the  heir  and  a 
man  grown,  certain  alterations  he  wished  to  make  in 
the  house  and  various  improvements  on  the  estate. 
By  way  of  revenge,  when  the  two  boys  were  alone, 
Roger  would  not  fail  to  remind  Hugo  which  one  was 
the  heir,  and,  instead  of  begging  him  not  to  tell  their 
father,  menaced  him  ;  and  as  Roger  was  a  fighter,  Hugo 
very  prudently  held  his  tongue. 

The  ill-will  of  my  Lady  Castleraaine  was  not  over  in 

13 


The  House  of  Egremont 

a  day,  and  year  after  year,  as  John  Egremont  showed 
his  face  at  Whitehall  Palace,  he  was  civilly  invited 
to  take  himself  off.  This  lasted  until  Roger  was  sixteen 
years  old  and  Hugo  was  alleged  to  be  fourteen,  when 
a  very  unexpected  summons  into  the  other  world  came 
to  John  Egremont,  and  he  was  forced  to  mount  and  go 
behind  the  gentleman  on  a  pale  horse.  He  had  not 
even  time  to  sign  a  will  he  had  made,  in  which  he  gave 
all  he  could  of  the  estate,  and  much  that  was  not  his 
to  give,  to  Hugo.  This  darling  of  his  father's  heart 
was  left  penniless.  Sir  Thomas  Buckstone,  a  money- 
getting,  puritanical  person,  was  named  as  guardian  of 
the  two  lads  in  this  unsigned  will,  and  nobody  objecting, 
he  qualified,  and  immediately  took  charge  of  them. 

Now,  as  none  of  John  Egremont's  friends  and  neigh- 
bors had  believed  his  story  concerning  Hugo,  when 
the  boy  was  by  this  mischance  left  a  beggar  a  great 
outcry  was  raised  against  him.  Tins  was  intensified  by 
letters  received  from  the  lad's  mother,  who  came  to  life 
most  unopportunely,  and  followed  her  letters  to  Eng- 
land. She  was  a  painted,  shrill-voiced,  handsome  harpy 
of  a  woman,  whose  wild  protestations  and  vehement 
assertions  and  multitude  and  variety  of  asseverations 
that  she  was  John  Egremont's  widow,  did  away  with 
the  small  chance  Hugo  had  of  getting  a  younger 
brother's  portion;  and  she  retired  defeated  and  dis- 
credited from  the  beginning. 

Sir  Thomas  Buckstone,  a  dull-witted  man,  saw  only 
in  Roger  Egremont  a  graceful,  shy,  uneducated  strip- 
ling, who  knew  nothing  but  horses  and  dogs,  and 
conceived  it  would  be  for  their  mutual  advantage 
that  there  should  be  but  one  mind  between  them,  and 
that  mind  Sir  Thomas's.  And  there  were,  besides,  eight 
Buckstone  maidens,  any  one  of  whom  was  eligible  to 

14 


Roger  Egremont  Makes  His  Bow 

become  Madam  Egremont.  Therefore  Sir  Thomas  sol- 
emnly assured  Roger  of  the  intention  to  protect  him 
from  being  robbed  in  favor  of  Hugo. 

"  A  very  small  allowance,  my  dear  lad  —  enough  to 
keep  him  from  beggary;  that  is  all  which  I  can  in 
conscience  allow  him  out  of  your  estate." 

Roger  heard  this  in  silence  for  a  moment  and  then 
said,  — 

"  But  he  is  my  father's  son.  He  should  have  enough 
to  live  upon  as  becomes  a  gentleman." 

"  One  hundred  pounds  a  year,"  replied  Sir  Thomas, 
virtuously. 

"  Make  it  what  you  like,  sir ;  but  although  I  am  not 
great  friends  with  my  half-brother,  I  would  not  stint 
him  in  his  living.  If  I  cannot  give  him  enough  out  of 
my  own  allowance,  I  can  promise  him  to  give  him  a 
sum  down  when  I  am  of  age,  and  I  shall  do  it." 

Which  he  did ;  and  of  which  Hugo  was  perfectly  sure 
as  soon  as  Roger  told  him,  and  straightway  borrowed 
money  on  the  strength  of  it.  But  he  borrowed  pru- 
dently,—  Hugo  being  ever  prudent.  The  two  brothers 
continued  to  live  at  Egremont,  and  were  more  nearly 
friends  than  they  had  ever  been  before.  Hugo  read  and 
studied  diligently,  and  Roger  never  looked  into  a  book. 
Sir  Thomas  Buckstone,  thinking  money  on  education 
wasted,  made  no  move  toward  supplying  his  ward  with 
book-learning,  and  Roger's  religion  debarred  him  from  the 
universities ;  so  he  lived  on,  the  same  lazy,  happy,  idle,  and 
apparently  unprofitable  life  he  had  always  led.  He  was 
not  the  soberest  young  man  in  the  parish,  and  did  not 
follow  Hugo's  example  of  always  watering  his  wine ;  by 
which  as  others  grew  drunk,  Hugo  remained  sober  and 
smiling.  Nor  was  Roger  immaculate  in  other  respects, 
but  where  Hugo  had  one  friend,  Roger  had  a  dozen. 

15 


The  House  of  Egremont 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Roger  gave  no  thought 
to  the  future  mistress  of  Egremont,  but  beyond  plainly- 
indicating  it  was  not  to  be  one  of  the  eight  Buckstone 
maidens,  he  made  no  sign.  He  was  a  favorite  in  the 
hunting-field,  where  he  was  a  bold  and  dashiug  rider, 
and  at  balls,  where  he  danced  well,  and  he  could  sing  a 
good  song,  accompanying  himself  upon  the  viol,  —  an 
accomplishment  he  had  picked  up  from  Hugo.  Nor 
was  he  at  all  shy  with  the  ladies,  and  knew  quite  well 
how  to  turn  a  compliment  with  perfect  grace.  But 
he  was  so  sensible  of  his  deficiencies  in  education, 
and  knew  so  little  to  talk  about,  that  he  did  not 
very  much  cultivate  the  society  of  women.  Never- 
theless, Roger  Egremont  was  fully  able  to  reach  the 
standard  of  a  man  as  defined  by  Henry  the  Great  of 
France,  in  his  song  descriptive  of  himself,  — 

"  This  devil  of  a  Henry  the  Fourth, 
Has  the  three  gifts  that  make  a  man. 
He  can  drink,  he  can  fight, 
And  he  can  be  gallant  to  the  ladies." 

Hugo,  on  the  contrary,  cultivated  assiduously  all  who 
would  notice  him.  What  mattered  it  that  the  sheriff  of 
the  county  invited  Roger,  before  Hugo's  face,  to  dine  at 
his  house,  and  pointedly  omitted  Hugo  ?  Hugo  smiling 
met  him  next  day,  and  asked  cordially  after  her  lady- 
ship and  her  ladyship's  daughters,  and  rode  by  his 
lordship's  side  for  the  space  of  a  mile  or  more.  What  if 
there  were  talk  about  whether  he  should  be  permitted  to 
attend  the  county  ball?  Hugo  worked  for  an  invitation 
hard,  and  went  upon  a  veiy  slim  one,  and  bore  amiably 
the  cold  looks  of  the  people  generally  who  were  assem- 
bled. He  was  far  more  regularly  handsome  than 
Roger,  infinitely  accomplished,  and  made  considerable 

16 


Roger  Egremont  Makes  His  Bow 

headway  with  the  other  sex.  Roger  despised  his  half- 
brother  for  this  way  of  getting  on  in  the  world,  but  he 
was  at  a  loss  how  to  explain  his  feelings  in  the  matter. 

By  that  time,  Dicky  Egremont  was  growing  man  ward. 
He  was  as  eager  about  learning  as  Roger  was  indifferent, 
and  was  likewise  a  great  toast  among  the  ladies,  a  tire- 
less dancer,  an  expert  fiddler,  and  had  a  voice  in  singing 
like  the  sweetest  thrush  that  ever  sang.  His  old  grand- 
father being  dead,  and  having  no  estate,  Dicky,  like  his 
cousins,  had  liberty  to  follow  his  natural  bent,  and  it 
led  him  wherever  there  was  youth,  gayety,  and  music. 
Roger,  who  could  well  afford  it,  made  him  a  handsome 
allowance,  of  which  Dicky  made  ducks  and  drakes. 
Much  of  it  went  on  horses  and  dogs,  but  stray  fiddlers, 
professional  beggars,  and  occasionally  the  deserving 
poor  got  the  best  part  of  it.  Unlike  Roger,  Dicky 
sorrowfully  lamented  that  he  was  shut  out,  by  the  re- 
ligion of  his  family,  from  a  liberal  education,  and  some- 
times talked  wildly  of  running  away  to  St.  Omer's  or 
Douai,  or  Clermont,  where  he  could  learn  what  was 
out  of  his  reach  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge.  But  as 
these  aspirations  were  usually  followed  by  a  screeching 
run  after  the  hounds,  or  a  roaring  night  at  cards  and 
dice,  nobody  took  little  Dicky  very  seriously.  One 
March  morning,  however,  after  a  convivial  night  of  it, 
beginning  with  the  county  ball  and  ending  in  countless 
jorums  of  punch,  Roger,  on  rising  and  going  out,  found 
Dicky  with  a  solemn  face,  round  and  rosy  though  it 
might  be,  walking  up  and  down  the  terrace. 

"  Halloa  I "  cried  Roger,  gayly,  "  I  did  not  think  to 
find  thee  sober  this  morning.  The  last  I  remember  was 
the  chorus  we  were  having  —  " 

"Roger,"  said  Dicky,  going  up  to  his  cousin,  and 
holding  him  by  the  lappel  as  he  had  done  as  a  little  lad. 
2  17 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"  This  life  is  idle  and  sinful.  I  am  going  to  France  to 
be  educated  —  to  St.  Omer's ;  I  am  going,  I  tell  you." 

Roger's  ringing  laugh  startled  the  lazy  fish  in  the 
fish  pond. 

"low  going  to  St  Omer's — such  a  promising  little 
rake  as  you  are?  " 

Dicky  blushed  scarlet,  and  then  fell  to  smiling  so  that 
the  dimples  came  out  all  over  his  round,  rosy  face.  "  I 
know,"  he  said  presently,  becoming  preposterously  grave, 
and  blinking  his  eyes  solemnly,  "I  have  been  a  very 
wild,  bad  fellow,  but  I  mean  to  reform  —  that  I  do. 
Cousin  Roger." 

"  Do,  little  Dicky,"  cried  Roger,  beginning  to  laugh 
again,  and  throwing  his  arm  around  Dicky's  neck. 
"  You  '11  have  to  give  over  punch  —  " 

"  I  had  too  much  last  night,  God  forgive  me,"  piously 
said  Dicky,  and  then,  Hugo  suddenly  appearing,  Dicky 
stopped  short,  and  the  three  young  men  went  in  to 
breakfast.  Roger  did  not  take  Dicky  any  too  seriously. 
He  remembered  that  Dicky,  as  a  boy,  frequently  an- 
nounced his  intention  to  be  a  priest,  chiefly  for  the 
pleasure  of  hiding  himself  in  the  "  priest's  hole  "  that 
mysterious  place  behind  the  mantel  in  the  little  yellow 
parlor,  out  of  which  Roger,  as  executioner,  would  haul 
him  and  proceed  tp  decapitate  him  on  the  stone  horse- 
block outside.  And  Dicky  was  very  young,  and  extrava- 
gantly fond  of  fiddling  and  dancing ;  so  Roger  thought 
no  more  about  the  scheme  until  one  day,  about  a  week 
after  that,  when  a  letter  was  put  in  his  hand.  It  was  in 
Dicky's  handwriting,  and  ran  thus  :  — 

Dear  Roger,  —  Do  not  be  angry ;  I  am  on  my  way  as  fast 
as  a  good  horse  will  carry  me,  to  Torbay,  where  I  shall  take 
ship  for  France.  Pray,  Cousin  Roger,  do  not  be  very  angry. 
I  have  some  money,  and  I  have  no  one  in  the  world  to  love 

18 


Roger  Egremont  Makes  His  Bow 

or  think  of  except  you ;  and  I  want  to  have  some  college 
learning,  and  that  is  why  I  have  gone.  Dear  Roger,  you 
have  been  the  best  and  truest  friend  I  ever  had,  except  my 
grandfather.  You  need  not  look  for  my  fiddle.  I  could 
not  take  it  with  me,  so  I  hid  it  in  a  place  where  some  day 
I  shall  come  after  it.     God  bless  you,  Roger. 

Your  aff.  cousin, 

RicHD.  Egremont. 

Roger  was,  indeed,  very  angry  with  Dicky.  He  went 
to  the  yellow  parlor,  and  drawing  back  a  panel  of  the 
wainscoting,  revealed  the  well-known  place  in  the  wall, 
—  pierced  with  auger-holes  for  air  and  light, —  and  there 
lay  Dicky's  beloved  fiddle ;  and  in  the  midst  of  Roger's 
wrath  the  sight  made  him  smile. 

Egremont  was  lonely  to  Roger  for  a  long  while  after 
Dicky's  departure,  for  although  he  and  Hugo  were  upon 
perfectly  friendly  terms,  there  was  little  sympathy  be- 
tween them.  And  troublous  times  were  ahead  for  all 
Englishmen,  for  it  was  then  the  summer  of  1688.  Eng- 
land seethed  like  a  pot  over  the  repeal  of  the  Test  Act, 
and  the  substitution  of  the  Act  of  Toleration.  Natu- 
rally, Roger  Egremont  was  strongly  predisposed  toward 
the  abolition  of  the  Test  Act,  which,  as  long  as  it 
lasted,  excluded  him  not  only  from  the  universities  and 
the  learned  professions,  for  which  he  cared  nothing,  but 
from  the  profession  of  arms,  for  which  he  cared  a  great 
deal.  Few,  even  of  the  strongest  advocates  of  King 
James,  went  as  far  as  Roger  Egremont  in  his  views. 
Reasoning  naturally,  his  ideas  were  lofty,  but  often  im- 
practical. He  dared  assert  that  it  was  inherently  wrong 
to  molest  any  man,  in  his  person  or  estate,  for  his  relig- 
ious belief.  This  was  but  a  step  removed  from  treason, 
according  to  the  lights  of  his  time,  when,  everywhere,  a 
difference  in  religion  was  considered  a  crime  against  the 

19 


The  House  of  Egremont 

State.  This  and  many  other  ideas,  which  Robert  Egre- 
mont was  accused  of  getting  from  game-keepers  and 
poachers,  he  really  drew  from  the  thoughts  that  flooded 
his  mind  when  he  saw  the  pale  glory  of  the  stars  gleam- 
ing in  the  serene  sky  of  evening,  or  felt  the  vagrant 
wind  blowing,  or  watched  the  awakening  of  the  spring, 
or  the  solemn  farewell  that  nature  takes  in  the  dying 
time  of  year. 

These  notions  mattered  little  as  long  as  Roger  was  a 
minor,  living  idly  and  pleasantly  at  Egremont.  But 
when  he  came  of  age,  and  openly  advocated  the  cause 
of  dissenters  and  papists,  it  was  altogether  different. 
The  Egremont  estates  gave  him  great  political  interest, 
and  he  made  no  secret  of  the  way  he  meant  to  use  it,  — 
in  treasonable  practices,  so  his  world  thought,  but  really 
in  the  advancement  of  human  liberty. 

Meanwhile  things  were  going  badly  for  another  ad- 
vocate of  the  Act  of  Toleration  —  to  wit,  his  Majesty, 
James  the  Second.  It  grew  toward  the  autumn  of  the 
year  1 688,  and  England  was  filled  with  rumors  of  revolu- 
tion, while  the  gaols  were  filled  with  dissenters,  and  the 
Catholics  shivered  at  the  prospect  of  soon  joining  them. 
At  Exeter,  not  far  from  Egremont,  a  number  of  dissent- 
ing ministers  had  been  imprisoned,  and  typhus  fever 
broke  out  among  them.  One  of  them  had  preached  in 
the  parish  of  Egremont,  and  great  complaint  had  been 
made  of  Roger  Egremont's  indifference  to  the  mainten- 
ance of  the  law  concerning  dissentere.  Some  of  the  fol- 
lowers of  these  poor  men  had  visited  these  unfortunates 
in  gaol  and  brought  away  the  infection  of  fever,  which 
raged  thereafter  in  the  country  round  about.  When 
the  trial  came  off,  a  few  weeks  later,  one  of  the  judges 
and  several  of  the  jury  and  of  the  spectators  caught  the 
fever  from  the  prisoners,  and  many  deaths  resulted. 

20 


Roger  Egremont  Makes  His  Bow 

Roger  Egremont  and  his  half-brother  were  speaking 
of  this  one  November  afternoon  in  1688,  as  they  sat 
at  dinner  in  the  great  dining-hall  at  Egremont.  The 
main  entrance  opened  directly  into  this  vast  hall,  hung 
with  portraits,  with  ancient  armor,  and  with  hunting 
trophies.  A  fine  musicians'  gallery  faced  a  huge  fire- 
place in  which  a  coach  and  four  could  have  turned 
around.  Innumerable  tall  slits  of  windows  let  in  the 
light,  and  faintly  illuminated  the  carved  ceiling  almost 
lost  in  the  gloom  of  the  dull  autumn  afternoon. 

The  pretence,  so  carefully  cultivated  by  their  father, 
that  Roger  was  the  elder  had  become  more  obvious  as 
the  young  men  grew  older.  Hugo,  tall,  dark,  and  well 
made,  was  at  least  twenty-three  years  old,  and  everybody 
but  himself  laughed  when  he  gravely  spoke  of  himself 
as  barely  twenty.  Hugo  always  uttered  it  with  the 
utmost  seriousness.  Roger  had  never  been  so  regularly 
handsome  as  Hugo,  but  he  retained  the  charming,  arch 
expression  of  his  boyish  days  in  his  dark  eyes,  and  his 
was  one  of  those  faces  on  which  both  women  and  men 
look  with  favor. 

The  two  brothers  were  seated  at  a  small  square  table, 
close  by  the  fireplace.  They  talked  together  of  the 
parliamentary  struggles,  and  of  the  chances  of  the 
King's  party.  The  conflict  between  James  the  Second 
and  William  of  Orange  was  on,  and  every  day  news 
was  expected  of  the  landing  of  the  Dutch  Prince. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Roger,  very  earnestly,  "  I  look 
in  amazement  at  this  England  of  ours.  The  people 
prate  of  liberty,  and  yet  are  panic-stricken  at  the  mere 
notion  that  a  man  should  have  liberty  of  conscience  to 
worship  God  as  he  likes.  I  am  for  the  repeal  of  the 
Test  Act,  and  the  penal  laws,  and  in  favor  of  the  Act 
of  Toleration,  not  simply  because  it  will  make  me  a 

21 


The  House  of  Egremont 

free  man,  but  because  it  will  mean  the  breaking  of  the 
dawn  to  many  who  have  stumbled  along  in  the  dark- 
ness, thinking  the  figures  of  their  fellow-men  huge, 
misshapen  devils  menacing  them.  And  if  all  English- 
men were  equally  free,  we  would  see  each  other  as  we 
are  and  have  no  fear." 

"What  book  did  you  get  that  fine  speech  out  of, 
brother?"  asked  Hugo,  smiling  indulgently,  as  he 
always  did,  at  the  views  of  the  unlettered  Roger.  A 
dull  flush  came  into  Roger's  face. 

"  Surely,  I  did  not  get  it  out  of  any  book  ;  it  is  a 
thought  out  of  my  own  head.  Books  are  well  enough, 
but  I  can  learn  nothing  from  them  —  true,  I  have  not 
much  tried,"  he  added  hastily.  "  But  I  know  that  to 
keep  me,  a  free-born  Briton,  subject  to  imprisonment  and 
infamy,  and  to  take  my  lands  away  from  me,  if  I  openly 
practise  the  religion  of  our  fathers,  is  wrong.  And  to 
forbid  me,  an  English  gentleman,  to  walk  in  St.  James's 
Park,  whither  every  Dutch  spy  can  have  access,  is  a 
gross  affront  to  me,  —  nay  more,  an  invasion  of  my 
liberty.  And  I  also  know  that  to  keep  those  unfor- 
tunate poor  creatures  languishing  in  gaol  at  Exeter, 
because  they  go  to  hear  a  weaver  preach  in  a  barn  of 
Sundays,  is  inhuman.  And  I  would  like  to  see  my 
country  be  the  first,  and  not  the  last,  to  see  this  great 
truth  of  toleration." 

Hugo,  who  was  not  fond  of  these  discussions,  re- 
marked :  "  In  my  ride  to-day,  I  heard  that  two  of  the 
nonconformist  ministers  in  gaol  at  Exeter  are  dead  of 
the  gaol  fever,  and  that  fourteen  persons,  including  the 
judge  that  sentenced  them,  are  ill,  and  several  likely  to 
die.  There  should  be  precautions  taken  in  bringing 
prisoners  with  the  infection  on  them  into  court." 

*'  If  the  judge  that  sentenced  them  and  the  jury  that 

22 


Roger  Egremont  Makes  His  Bow 

convicted  them  all  died  of  the  fever,  it  would  be  the 
just  reward  of  iniquit}^"  cried  Roger,  excitedly.  "I 
need  no  book  learning  for  that  I  " 

As  he  raised  his  eyes  he  saw,  through  the  window 
opposite,  a  number  of  armed  men  who  seemed  to  have 
sprung  from  the  ground,  and  who  fairly  surrounded  the 
house  as  far  as  he  could  see.  And  at  the  same  moment 
the  great  door  of  the  hall  was  opened,  and  a  long-nosed 
gentleman,  in  military  dress  and  a  black  peruke,  en- 
tered, followed  by  three  other  persons,  evidently  of  the 
suite  of  the  long-nosed  gentleman.  They  advanced 
without  bowing ;  one  of  the  party  ran  ahead,  pulled 
out  a  chair,  and  the  long-nosed  gentleman  seated 
himself  at  the  table  without  removing  his  hat. 

Roger  Egremont  watched  this  silently  and  without 
rising.  Nor  did  he  move  when  the  long-nosed  gentle- 
man, coolly  helping  himself  to  a  piece  of  a  fowl  on  the 
table,  said  in  English  with  a  Dutch  accent :  "  Sir,  I  am 
under  no  disguise.  I  am  the  Prince  of  Orange.  My 
horse  lost  a  shoe  at  your  park  gates,  and  knowing  it  to 
be  near  dinner-time,  I  claim  your  hospitality  until  the 
blacksmith  is  through  with  the  horse." 

As  soon  as  he  uttered  the  words  "  I  am  the  Prince 
of  Orange,"  Hugo  rose  and  made  obeisance.  Roger, 
quietly  picking  up  his  hat,  which  lay  on  a  chair  near- 
by, put  it  on  his  head ;  he  and  the  Prince  of  Orange 
were  the  only  persons  covered. 

The  Prince,  without  noticing  the  action,  continued  to 
gnaw  and  tug  at  his  chicken,  while  Roger  continued  to 
observe  in  silence  his  four  uninvited  guests.  Two  of 
the  Dutchmen  helped  themselves  to  mutton  from  the 
dish,  while  the  third  gulped  down  wine,  and  making 
a  wry  face  after  it,  spat  upon  the  floor. 

Roger  Egremont's  black  eyes  began  to  blaze.     The 

23 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Prince  of  Orange,  with  the  drumstick  of  the  chicken 
sticking  out  of  his  mouth,  spoke  in  a  tone  of  explana- 
tion rather  than  apology. 

"  The  wine  drunk  in  England  does  not  suit  Dutch 
palates.     Have  you  no  other  liquor  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  variety  of  liquor,"  responded  Roger,  with 
the  greatest  politeness,  "  but  none  of  it  will  suit  Dutch 
palates.  It  was  bought  by  English  gentlemen  for  Eng- 
lish gentlemen,  of  whom  I  am  one,  by  God !  " 

The  Prince  of  Orange  glanced  up  at  Roger,  who  wore 
a  cool,  insulting  smile.  The  Prince's  saturnine  features 
contorted  into  a  smile  too,  as,  drawing  his  sword,  he 
leaned  over  the  table,  and  catching  Roger's  hat  on  the 
sword's  point,  flicked  it  off.  A  platter  of  the  same  kind 
of  white  beans  with  which  Roger  Egremont's  ancestor 
won  the  favor  of  Elizabeth  Tudor  was  at  hand.  Roger 
took  it  up  gently,  poised  it  carefully,  and  then  threw  it 
full  in  the  face  of  the  Prince  of  Orange. 

That  day,  six  months,  Roger  Egremont  appeared 
in  the  prisoner's  dock  at  Westminster  Hall,  before 
the  Court  of  the  King's  Bench,  to  be  tried  for  his  life 
upon  the  charge  of  sedition  and  treason.  He  sat, 
because  the  fetters  upon  his  legs  prevented  him  from 
standing. 


24 


CHAPTER  II 

ROGER  EGREMONT  MAKES  INTIMATE  ACQUAINTANCE 
WITH  TWO  PERSONS,  WHO  EXERCISE  GREAT  BUT 
WIDELY  DIFFERING  INFLUENCES  UPON  HIS  LIFE, — 
TO   WIT,   THE   DEVIL   AND   MISS   BESS   LUKENS. 

THE  trial  of  Roger  Egremont  took  place  before  a 
full  bench,  Chief  Justice  Holt  presiding,  and 
was  among  the  first  trials  for  sedition  and  treason 
resulting  from  the  Revolution.  It  was  memorable  in 
another  way;  for  from  that  day  ceased  the  dreadful 
practice  of  trying  prisoners  in  their  chains.  The  Chief 
Justice,  hearing  a  clanking  when  the  prisoner  rose  to 
plead,  said,  — 

"  I  should  like  to  know  why  the  prisoner  is  brought 
in  ironed.  If  fetters  were  necessary  for  his  safe  custody 
before,  there  is  no  danger  of  escape  or  rescue  here. 
Let  them  be  instantly  knocked  off.  When  prisoners 
are  tried,  they  should  stand  at  their  ease." 

"  I  thank  your  lordship,"  replied  Roger,  rising  with 
difficulty,  and  bowing. 

When  he  was  free  from  his  chains  and  stood  up,  he 
was  seen  to  be  a  young  man  of  presence  most  fair,  and 
of  a  cool  courage. 

The  trial  attracted  a  great  concourse  of  people,  and 
much  violence  of  feeling  was  shown  both  for  and  against 
the  prisoner.  The  Whigs,  resenting  far  more  than 
William  of  Orange  the  personal  insult  offered  him,  clam- 
ored for   Roger   Egremont's  blood;  and   truly,  if  any 

25 


The  House  of  Egremont 

man  in  England  deserved  to  be  hanged  for  the  share  he 
took  against  the  Dutch  Prince,  Roger  Egremont  was  the 
man.  He  had  endeavored  to  raise  the  county  against 
the  new-comer,  and  had  actually  succeeded  in  getting 
together  a  band,  chiefly  of  his  own  kindred  and  tenantry, 
which  pursued  the  Prince  of  Orange  secretly  almost  to 
London,  and  were  only  prevented  from  waylaying  him 
by  the  rapidity  and  secrecy  with  which  he  travelled. 
The  whole  Egremont  connection  stood  firmly  by  King 
James ;  several  of  their  number  had  followed  him  to  St. 
Germains,  and  were  openly  in  communication  with  their 
kinsmen  in  England ;  and  Roger  Egremont  had  publicly 
and  frequently  denounced  William  of  Orange  in  a 
manner  impossible  for  any  government  to  overlook 
which  expected  to  stand.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
were  a  vast  number  of  Englishmen  who  thought  as 
Roger  Egremont  did,  and  expressed  themselves  privately 
as  he  had  done  publicly.  Sympathy  for  his  youth,  for 
the  gross  invasion  of  his  house,  for  the  spirit  he  showed 
as  an  English  gentleman  impatient  of  the  rule  of  for- 
eigners, made  him  many  friends.  It  was  felt  that  the 
new  government  had  a  hard  nut  to  crack  in  handling 
him  so  that  justice  would  not  appear  cruelty,  and  mercy 
weakness. 

The  Chief  Justice  and  his  associates  dealt  with  him 
kindly,  nor  was  the  Attorney  General  unduly  severe. 
But  the  evidence  against  him  was  enough  to  hang  ten 
men.  Among  the  first  witnesses  put  in  the  box  was  his 
half-brother,  Hugo  Egremont,  as  he  was  still  called,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  no  soul  in  England,  not  excepting 
Hugo  himself,  believed  his  mother  to  have  been  at  any 
time  the  wife  of  John  Egremont. 

Hugo  had  not  wasted  the  first  six  months  in  which 
William  of  Orange  was  on  the  English  throne.     Having 

26 


Roger  Makes  Acquaintance,  etc. 

concluded  that  King  James  was  gone,  never  to  return, 
Hugo  acted  accordingly.  He  frequented  the  court,  and 
was  one  among  the  English  gentlemen  who  stood 
against  the  wall  while  William  and  his  Dutch  compan- 
ions sat  at  their  ease,  and  ate  and  drank  and  smoked, 
and  talked  in  the  Dutch  language  concerning  the 
English  people,  their  conduct  and  affairs,  and  laughed 
loudly  at  things  which  these  attendant  English  gentle- 
men heard  but  could  not  understand.  Hugo  Egremont, 
however,  being  a  very  crafty  young  man,  learned  the 
Dutch  language,  to  the  mingled  delight  and  chagrin  of 
the  Dutchmen,  and  conversed  with  them  affably  in  their 
own  tongue.  He  conformed  so  absolutely,  and  went  to 
church  so  often,  that  even  William  of  Orange  grinned 
a  sardonic  grin  when  he  heard  of  it,  and  my  Lord 
Halifax,  the  prince  of  trimmers,  laughed  outright,  and 
made  it  an  after-dinner  joke. 

At  the  trial,  Hugo's  appearance  —  handsome,  well 
dressed,  sly,  composed,  and  polished  —  gave  rise  to  a 
groan  from  the  spectators  in  the  great  hall.  He  went 
up  to  Roger  and  offered  his  hand,  saying  smoothly,  — 

"  I  am  sorry,  brother,  to  see  you  in  this  case." 

Roger,  disdaining  his  hand,  replied,  — 

"  Call  me  not  brother.  Had  you  been  loyal  to  your 
King,  as  all  true  Egremonts  are,  I  would  have  forgotten 
that  you  are  the  child  of  my  father's  leman.  But  you 
chose  the  other  part,  so  go  your  way  from  me,  Hugo 
Stein."  This  imprudent  speech  was  heard  by  many 
persons.  Hugo  winced  under  it,  but  when  he  came  to 
be  examined,  he  showed  no  animus  against  Roger,  and 
seemed  to  testify  unwillingly.  Yet,  on  his  evidence 
alone,  Roger  could  have  been  hanged  twice  over. 
When  he  was  questioned  in  regard  to  Roger  Egre- 
mont's  designs  in  his  pursuit  of  the  Prince  of  Orange, 

27 


The  House  of  Egremont 

he  hesitated  and  seemed  distressed.  Roger,  however, 
replied  for  him,  addressing  the  judges  in  the  following 
cool  and  daring  words,  — 

"  My  lords,  of  your  goodness  permit  me  to  say,  '  t  is 
useless  to  probe  this  man,  Hugo  Stein,  sometime  known 
as  Hugo  Egremont.  My  motive  in  pursuing  His  High- 
ness was  to  capture  him  and  send  him  out  of  the 
kingdom ;  and  though  I  did  not  expressly  seek  His 
Highness's  life,  yet  had  he  been  killed  I  should  have 
felt  no  more  regret  than  if  I  had  killed  a  robber,  com- 
ing by  night  to  seize  my  goods." 

The  Chief  Justice  at  that  moment  was  taken  with  a 
sharp  coughing  spell,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  the  pris- 
oner's rash  words,  and  leaning  forward  flashed  Roger  a 
look  of  distinct  warning.  But  it  was  of  no  avail  —  the 
mischief  had  been  done.  It  was  commonly  thought 
that  Roger  had  given  away  his  life  in  those  words,  and 
something  like  a  sob  went  around  in  the  great  assem- 
blage. Nevertheless,  when  sentence  came  to  be  pro- 
nounced, he  was  only  sentenced  to  the  forfeiture  of 
his  estate,  and  imprisonment  in  Newgate  during  his 
Majesty's   pleasure. 

It  was  night  —  a  soft  May  night,  following  the  day  of 
his  conviction  —  when  Roger  entered  Newgate  prison. 
Hitherto  he  had  borne  up  manfully,  and  jested  and 
laughed  with  his  gaolers.  But  at  the  moment  of  passing 
under  the  dark  and  dreadful  archway  a  panic  seized 
his  soul.  Fear  was  new  to  him,  and  he  was  more 
frightened  at  being  afraid  than  at  anything  else  what- 
ever. As  he,  with  Lukens,  the  turnkey,  to  whom  he 
had  been  handed  over,  passed  along  one  of  the  great 
corridors,  they  heard  a  great  shout  of  laughter  and 
crying  out,  and  clatter  of  drinking,  and  presently  they 
came  to  an  open  door,  and  within  were  more  than  fifty 

28 


Roger  Makes  Acquaintance,  etc. 

persons,  carousing,  drinking,  and  playing  with  greasy 
cards  and  rude  dice. 

Now,  Roger  Egremont  was  no  Puritan,  nor  was  he 
given  to  low  company,  but,  scared  by  the  spectre  of 
Fear  which  stalked  through  his  mind,  he  would  have 
welcomed  a  company  of  gallows-birds  at  that  moment. 
Therefore,  with  a  wink  to  Lukens,  and  slipping  a  couple 
of  shillings  in  his  hand,  —  for  Roger  still  had  some 
money,  —  he  walked  into  the  dim,  foul,  and  noisy  room, 
and  making  a  low  bow  said,  — 

"  Gentlemen,  may  I  be  allowed  to  be  of  your 
company  ?  " 

Huzzas  arose,  and  a  great  black  fellow,  with  a  patch 
over  his  eye,  replied,  — 

"  Certainly,  sir,  if  you  will  make  your  footing  good." 
Which  meant  paying  for  liquor  wherewith  all  could  get 
fuddled. 

Roger  threw  some  money  to  the  turnkey,  and  the 
liquor  being  brought,  sat  and  boozed  and  sang  and 
gambled  and  cursed  with  the  motley  crew  until  the  day 
looked  pallidly  in  at  the  barred  windows. 

A  prisoner  with  money,  in  Newgate,  could  have  all 
he  wanted  and  do  as  he  listed,  except  he  could  not 
escape.  And  the  reason  of  this  was  plain.  Every 
prisoner  became  a  source  of  revenue  to  his  gaolers, 
and  to  let  him  go  was  to  part  with  the  goose  that  laid 
the  golden  egg;  and  consequently  never  was  there 
such  liberty  within  the  walls  of  a  prison,  and  never  was 
prison  better  watched. 

The  assemblage  in  which  Roger  Egremont  found  him- 
self was  made  up  of  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men. 
His  friend  with  the  patch  over  his  eye  was  a  highway- 
man. There  were  thieves  and  counterfeiters,  Jacobite 
gentlemen  and  recusant  curates ;  nearly  all  trades  and 

29 


The  House  of  Egremont 

professions  were  represented.  No  one  present,  not  even 
the  highwayman,  drank  and  swore  and  talked  so  reck- 
lessly as  Roger  Egremont.  For  to  fear  had  succeeded 
despair.  He  shouted  and  sang  and  drank,  because  had 
he  stopped  for  one  moment  to  think  he  would  have 
dashed  his  brains  out  against  the  stone  wall.  His  head 
was  steady  and  his  nerves  strong,  so  that  it  took  much 
liquor  and  extreme  brawling  to  bring  him  to  the  point 
where  physical  fatigue  overcame  mental  anguish. 
But  soon  after  daylight  he  was  carried  like  a  log  to  his 
cell,  by  Lukens  and  his  assistant,  Diggory  Hutchinson, 
a  brawny  fellow,  and  new  to  the  gaoler's  business. 

"  They  be  often  like  this,  at  first,"  said  Lukens,  with 
a  grin,  as  they  threw  Roger,  limp  and  maudlin,  on  his 
rude  bed.  "  'Tis  apt  to  take  gentlemen  and  clergy- 
men this  a- way.  Sometimes  they  gits  over  it  —  some- 
times they  don't." 

Roger  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  which  lasted  until  the 
afternoon.  He  waked,  his  vigorous  frame  recovered 
entirely  from  his  debauch,  but  in  an  instant  the  horror 
of  his  situation  returned  upon  him  so  that  he  rose, 
dressed  himself  quickly,  and  finding  some  money  that 
he  had  concealed  upon  his  person,  coolly  took  out  what 
seemed  enough  for  him  to  get  drunk  on,  and  put  the 
other  away,  and  then  sallied  forth  from  his  miserable 
room  in  search  of  the  hell  he  had  found  the  night 
before.  He  was  not  familiar  with  his  surroundings, 
and,  following  a  blind  corridor,  he  heard  the  sound  of 
a  woman's  voice,  singing  very  sweetly.  Presently  he 
came  upon  an  open  door,  leading  to  the  quarters  of 
Lukens,  the  turnkey,  and  there,  in  a  room  clean  and 
bright,  sat,  spinning,  Bess  Lukens,  the  turnkey's  niece, 
otherwise  known  as  Red  Bess  from  the  warm  color  of 
her  auburn  hair. 

30 


Roger  Makes  Acquaintance,  etc. 

She  was  tall,  well  formed,  and  vigorous  beyond  the 
common  for  a  woman.  Her  complexion  had  retained 
its  original  fairness  from  the  usual  darkness  of  the 
abode  in  which  she  dwelt,  but  it  had  not  robbed  her 
cheek  of  its  ruddy  bloom,  nor  her  lips  of  their  scarlet 
tint.  Her  large,  liquid  eyes  were  of  a  reddish-brown, 
with  black  lashes  and  eyebrows,  and  when  she  opened 
her  wide  handsome  mouth  she  showed  teeth  as  white 
and  regular  as  Roger's  own. 

She  was  about  twenty  years  of  age,  and  dressed  in 
a  plain  brown  stuff  gown  and  a  spotless  linen  cap,  and 
she  was  spinning  industriously  and  singing  in  a  loud, 
sweet,  rich  voice  as  she  spun.  Had  Roger  Egremont 
been  his  natural  and  normal  self,  the  sight  of  her  sump- 
tuous beauty  would  have  warmed  and  interested  him; 
but  to  all  intent,  he  was  not  Roger  Egremont  at  that 
moment,  but  a  devil  of  despair  and  wickedness  who 
had  cast  out  Roger's  identity  and  was  masquerading  in 
his  body. 

The  girl  caught  sight  of  him,  however,  and  stopped 
her  spinning  and  singing.  As  she  rose  and  advanced 
toward  him,  the  light  of  a  May  afternoon  falling  on  her 
supple  figure,  he  could  not  but  note,  dull  as  his  senses 
were,  the  natural  grace  of  her  movements,  and  her  rich 
voice  in  speaking  as  in  singing.  She  showed  not  a  par- 
ticle of  bashfulness  or  coquetry  in  speaking  to  the  hag- 
gard young  gentleman  before  her,  but  said  pleasantly,  — 

"  You  've  missed  your  way,  sir.  This  is  where  my 
uncle,  Mr.  Lukens  lives,  and  the  prisoners  go  not 
beyond  the  turn  in  the  corridor,  where  the  lantern 
hangs  against  the  wall." 

"  I  know  it,  mistress  ;  I  have  missed  my  way.  Will 
you  please  to  conduct  me  to  the  common  room  of  the 
prisoners  ?  " 

31 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"  Now,  look  here,  young  gentleman,"  said  Bess,  sud- 
denly adopting  an  authoritative  tone,  "  you  'd  best  keep 
away  from  that  gang.  You  're  new  to  it,  —  that  I  see 
with  half  an  eye,  —  and  if  it 's  going  with  those  people 
in  the  common  room  you  are,  you  '11  soon  be  in  a  bad 
way." 

"  Mistress,"  replied  Roger,  with  great  respect,  "  May 
I  ask  if  you  are  head  nurse  in  this  little  nursery? 
And  what  will  you  do  with  me  in  case  I  do  not  obey 
you  ?     Give  me  a  switching,  perhaps." 

The  ever  ready  blood  poured  into  Bess's  smooth 
cheek,  and  sparks  flew  from  her  red-brown  eyes.  She 
seemed  about  to  speak  impetuously,  but  checked  herself, 
and  then  said,  pointing  with  a  contemptuous  finger,  — 

"  Go  back  to  where  the  lantern  hangs,  then  turn  to 
the  right,  and  straight  ahead." 

She  scudded  back  to  her  wheel,  began  to  turn  it 
violently,  and  burst  into  a  song  by  way  of  showing 
her  indifference.  But,  singing,  she  turned  her  head 
stealthily,  and  saw  Roger's  graceful  figure,  with  his 
light-brown  curls  floating  over  his  shapely  shoulders, 
disappearing  rapidly  into  the  gloom  of  the  corridor, 
where  not  even  the  May  sunshine  could  penetrate. 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight  and  sound  she  stopped 
spinning  and  singing,  and  resting  her  chin  on  her  hand 
thought,  — 

"  Poor  young  gentleman.  That  is  the  very  gentle- 
man they  brought  in  yesterday,  and  who  got  so  drunk 
last  night." 

Bess  Lukens  was  reckoned  hard-hearted  toward  the 
other  sex,  although  willing  enough  to  do  them  a  kind- 
ness provided  she  could  hector  over  them  in  the  act  of 
doing  it;  but  a  strange  softness  came  into  her  heart 
as  she  thought  about  Roger  Egremont.     He  looked  a 

32 


Roger  Makes  Acquaintance,  etc. 

man,  every  inch;  and  the  saucy  reply  he  gave  Bess 
she  secretly  liked.  But  Bess  had  no  time  to  waste  in 
sentimental  reflections.  She  was  by  nature  one  of  the 
most  energetic  of  mortals,  with  a  passion  for  clean  linen, 
order,  and  industry.  Soon  her  wheel  began  to  buzz 
again ;  but  she  could  still  see  Roger  Egremont's  figure 
standing  in  the  doorway,  against  the  blackness  of  the 
corridor  behind  him,  with  the  light  shining  full  on  his 
debonair  face.  As  for  Roger,  he  sped  toward  the  scene 
of  his  degradation  of  the  night  before  as  if  a  thousand 
devils  were  after  him,  and  gave  not  one  thought  to 
Red  Bess,  the  turnkey's  niece. 

The  second  night  was  spent  as  was  the  first ;  and  so, 
for  one  whole  week,  did  Roger  Egremont  give  himself 
up  to  liquor  and  cards  and  dice  and  the  lowest  company 
accessible  in  Newgate  prison.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
even  his  strong,  country-bred  frame  began  to  show  the 
effects  of  his  long  debauch,  and  his  mind,  too,  experi- 
-enced  the  benefit  of  being  turned  from  the  consideration 
of  its  miseiy  into  the  channel  of  cards  and  drink. 

One  night — the  eighth  after  he  entered  the  prison  — 
Roger's  strength  gave  out  temporarily.  Bess,  passing 
along  the  corridor  beyond  her  uncle's  quarters,  saw 
a  figure  lying  prone,  and  going  up  to  it  found  it  to 
be  Roger  Egremont,  not  only  drunk,  but  ill,  —  the 
Roger  Egremont  who  had  said  so  haughtily  to  William 
of  Orange  at  their  first  meeting,  "I  am  an  English 
gentleman,  by  God !  " 

Bess  looked  at  him,  with  pity  and  contempt  strug- 
gling in  her  breast.  She  was  as  strong  as  any  man, 
and  leaning  down,  she  actually  managed  to  raise  Roger 
to  his  feet,  and  to  lead  him  to  his  dismal  little  room, 
where  he  fell,  groaning,  upon  the  bed. 

Something  in  his  face,  something  in  his  fate  would 
3  33 


The  House  of  Egremont 

have  touched  even  a  hard  heart,  and  Bess  Lukens  had 
one  of  the  softest  of  hearts,  along  with  a  turbulent 
tongue  and  a  warm  temper.  She  covered  him  up  with  a 
thick  quilt  brought  from  her  own  quarters,  —  for  he  was 
shivering  with  cold,  —  rubbed  his  thi'obbing  head,  and 
at  last  soothed  him  into  quietness  and  sleep.  Then  she 
went  after  Diggory  Hutchinson,  and  commanded  him 
to  watch  by  Roger  during  the  night ;  and  Diggory, 
being  a  slave  to  her,  did  it. 

Next  morning  early,  Bess  was  at  Roger's  bedside. 
He  was  himself  then,  as  far  as  liquor  went,  but  the 
devil  still  possessed  him. 

"  Why  did  you  not  let  me  die  ?  "  he  said  sullenly. 
"  It 's  better  than  being  in  prison." 

"  Now,  that 's  because  you  are  a  countryman," 
replied  Bess,  briskly,  "  They  always  take  on  worse 
than  any  others.  They  want  to  be  out  in  the  fields, 
a-hunting  and  what  not.  But  you  'U  be  out  yet ;  some 
day,  they'll  get  tired  of  keeping  you.  Haven't  you 
got  some  relations  or  friends  in  London  that  might 
come  to  see  you?" 

Roger  shook  his  head. 

"I  know  scarce  any  one  in  London,  and  all  my 
relations  and  friends  that  I  care  anything  about  are  in 
the  South,  or  with  the  King  in  France." 

Bess  nodded  her  head  gravely,  and,  the  two  being 
alone,  she  said, — 

"And  they're  right.  I'm  no  papist,  nor  dissenter 
neither,  but  I  don't  like  the  Whigs.  They  're  a  low- 
born crew,  and  that's  why  I  don't  like  'em." 

Roger  had  never  expected  to  smile,  much  less  laugh 
again ;  but  the  energy  with  which  the  turnkey's  niece 
reviled  the  Whigs  on  account  of  their  low  birth,  made 
him  laugh  in  spite  of  himself, 

34 


Roger  Makes  Acquaintance,  etc. 

Bess,  who  was  quick  of  wit,  divined  in  a  moment 
what  he  was  laughing  at,  and  flushing  with  anger 
and  mortification,  she  told  him  so. 

"  And  if  I  say  they  're  low  born,  who  should  know  it 
any  better  than  I  ?  "  she  said,  bitterly.  "  Don't  I  know 
what  it  is  to  be  low  born  ?  Don't  people  say,  '  There 
goes  Bess  Lukens,  niece  of  Lukens,  the  turnkey '  ?  And 
though  ray  uncle  be  an  honest  man,  yet  his  calling  is 
vile,  and  I  know  it.  And  I  would  rather  be  well  born 
than  to  have  all  the  money  in  the  King's  chests  —  that 
I  would  I" 

Unshed  tears  were  flashing  in  Bess's  eyes,  and  her 
red  mouth  was  quivering.  Roger  was  ashamed  of  his 
thoughtlessness,  but  Bess  was  still,  to  him,  only  the 
handsome  niece  of  the  turnkey.  His  reply,  therefore, 
was  an  attempt  to  flip  her  under  the  chin  (which  Bess 
skilfully  avoided)  and  to  say,  — 

"  Never  mind,  my  girl.  One  may  be  well  born,  and 
very  miserable,  too." 

The  devil  did  not  leave  Roger  Egremont  at  once, 
although  he  had  come  in  full  panoply  at  short  notice ; 
but  for  a  little  while  longer  he  alternated,  coming  and 
going  fitfully.  However,  Roger  was  no  longer  ill,  and 
so  no  longer  in  need  of  Bess  Lukens's  pity  and  nursing. 
But  Bess,  who  treated  Diggory  Hutchinson  —  an  honest 
lad,  for  all  he  was  an  under-turnkey  —  like  a  dog,  and 
whose  sharp  tongue  and  strong  arm  were  ample  protec- 
tion against  any  man  in  Newgate,  could  not  so  easily 
put  Roger  out  of  her  mind.  Oftentimes  she  stopped 
in  her  spinning  and  knitting  and  sweeping  and  dusting 
and  bent  her  handsome  brows  to  listen  for  the  sound 
of  his  footstep,  or  his  pleasant,  courtier-like  voice,  as  he 
passed  to  and  fro  at  the  end  of  the  corridor.  But  she 
neither  saw  him  nor  had  speech  with  him,  until,  near  a 

35 


The  House  of  Egremont 

fortnight  later,  one  evening  just  at  dusk,  she  met  him 
face  to  face  in  the  mouth  of  the  corridor. 

Bess  had  been  out  to  buy  a  broom,  and  had  brought 
her  purchase  home  with  her.  Roger  was  walking  along 
immersed  in  black  melancholy,  but  as  Bess  came  into 
the  circle  of  light  made  by  the  lantern  on  the  wall,  he 
noticed  how  handsome  she  looked,  with  her  hood 
thrown  back,  and  her  face  flushed  with  exercise.  The 
devil  in  Roger  Egremont  made  him  pretend  to  be 
tips3%  and  lurching  forward  he  fell  against  her.  Bess, 
with  the  most  innocent  good-will,  mingled  with  wrath 
at  his  supposed  condition,  held  him  up ;  and  the  return 
he  made  for  this  was  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms,  crying : 

"  Ah,  my  girl,  you  knew  I  was  after  those  sweet  lips 
of  yours !  "  and  he  kissed  her  furiously  and  insultingly. 

For  one  moment  Bess  stood  dazed,  then,  command- 
ing all  her  young  strength,  she  thrust  him  away  from 
her,  so  violently  and  unexpectedly  that  he  staggered, 
and  a  fierce  and  well  directed  shove  actually  threw  him 
on  the  floor.  Then,  like  an  active  and  capable  gen- 
eral who  knows  how  to  follow  up  an  advantage,  Bess 
whipped  out  her  broom,  and  attacking  the  prostrate 
Roger  with  the  handle,  gave  him  then  and  there  the 
first  and  last  beating  of  his  life  —  all  the  time  crying 
out, — 

"  Oh,  you  wicked  man !  Is  this  the  way  to  treat 
a  respectable  girl?  You  call  yourself  a  gentleman  I 
I  would  not  give  a  farthing  for  a  wagon-load  of 
such  gentlemen ! "  and  the  while  she  whacked  him 
unmercifully. 

Roger  was  so  dazed  and  staggered  by  this  sharp 
and  unexpected  assault  that  for  a  minute  he  made 
no  resistance.  Then,  suddenly  springing  up,  his  fore- 
head came  in  hard  contact  with  Bess's  broom.     With- 

36 


Roger  Makes  Acquaintance,  etc. 

out  a  groan,  he  sank  backward,  blood  gushing  from 
his  temple. 

Immediately,  Bess  Lukens  proved  herself  a  true 
woman,  and  having  only  given  Roger  his  just  deserts, 
fell  to  weeping  over  him  and  reproaching  herself, 
meanwhile  tearing  up  her  apron  to  make  a  bandage 
for  his  bleeding  head. 

Roger  lay,  half  stunned  by  the  violence  of  the  blow, 
until  his  head  was  bandaged,  and  then  he  was  so 
white  and  still  that  Bess  was  frightened  half  to  death, 
and  cried,  — 

"  I  will  go  for  help  1     Sure,  I  have  near  killed  him !  " 

"  No  —  don't  go,"  said  Roger,  in  a  quiet  voice,  seiz- 
ing her.  "There  was  much  blood,  but  little  hurt. 
Help  me,  rather,  away  from  this  public  place." 

With  the  aid  of  Bess's  strong  arm,  he  got  up,  and 
managed  to  walk  as  far  as  Lukens's  quarters,  where 
he  sank  on  a  bench,  near  the  open  window.  The  air 
from  without  was  cool  and  sweet,  the  room  was  quiet, 
and  the  blow  from  Bess's  broom,  which  had  knocked 
the  memory  of  all  things  from  Roger  for  a  moment, 
seemed  to  mark  his  waking  into  another  and  a  better 
mind.  Bess  sat  near  him,  fanning  him  anxiously,  and 
the  tears  welling  up  into  her  brown  eyes.  In  truth, 
Roger's  air  of  dejection,  his  bandaged  head,  and  the 
sudden  sadness  of  his  manner,  might  have  softened 
any  woman. 

"  Bess,"  said  he  after  a  long  silence  —  the  first  time 
he  had  called  her  by  her  name  —  "I  thank  thee  for  that 
blow.  I  think  you  have  beat  the  devil  out  of  me  with 
your  broom,  for  I  feel  now  to  be  myself;  a  thing  I 
have  not  been  before  since  I  entered  these  walls." 

"I  knew  you  were  not  yourself,  Master  Roger," 
replied  Bess,  tearfully.     "  I  knew  it  was  just  rage  and 

37 


The  House  of  Egremont 

misery  and  the  like  that  had  you  by  the  throat  and 
would  not  let  you  go." 

"Pity  you  thought  not  of  that  when  you  belabored 
me,"  replied  Roger,  with  the  ghost  of  a  smile. 

"That  was  different,"  said  Bess  coolly,  but  with  a 
brighter  color,  "  'T  was  very  rude  of  you  to  tiy  and 
make  free  with  me,  and  't  was  for  that  I  struck  you." 

Roger  turned  his  one  free  eye  toward  her,  and  burst 
out  laughing,  and  then  said,  in  a  voice  at  once  gay, 
sweet,  and  earnest, — 

"Fair  mistress,  I  promise  you  I  will  never  dare  to 
make  free  with  you  again ;  and  I  swear  to  you  I  do 
not  respect  the  Queen's  Majesty  herself  more  than  I 
do  you,  Bess  Lukens." 

"  Thank  you.  Master  Roger  Egremont,"  was  all  that 
Bess  said  in  reply,  but  her  heart  was  filled  with  joy, 
keen  and  piercing. 

Roger  did  not  long  remain,  but  rising  and  saying 
good  evening  to  Bess,  walked  steadily  to  his  cell,  and 
sat  him  down  to  consider.  And  Bess  Lukens  fell  to 
work  at  her  knitting,  and  was  strangely  lifted  up  into 
a  blue  and  sunny  heaven,  as  she  sat  alone  in  the  twi- 
light, and  her  face  was  quite  glorified  with  a  new 
softness  and  sweetness  —  until  poor  Diggory  Hutchin- 
son shambled  in  and  tried  awkwardly  to  make  love  to 
her,  when  she  flew  out  against  him  and  crossly  bade 
him  hold  his  tongue. 

Roger  Egremont  spent  that  night  and  many  suc- 
ceeding nights  and  days  in  a  self-examination  which 
brought  him  to  extreme  anguish.  And  the  natural 
vigor  and  clearness  of  his  understanding  coming  to 
his  aid  to  show  him  where  he  stood,  he  perceived  that 
he  was  a  very  ignorant  man,  and  that  his  ignorance 
had  done  much  to  land  him  where  he  was.     All  this 

38 


Roger  Makes  Acquaintance,  etc. 

came  to  him  in  the  days  after  his  rencounter  with  Bess, 
when  he  spent  his  time  in  silence  in  his  room,  looking 
fixedly  at  the  little  slip  of  blue  sky  to  be  seen  through 
his  one  narrow  window,  and  thinking  how  the  haw- 
thorn buds  were  swelling  at  Egremont,  and  that  the 
tiny  young  of  the  game  birds  were  hopping  about 
fearlessly  in  the  ferny  thickets  of  the  park,  and  the 
fish  were  flashing  their  silvery  backs  in  the  still  and 
shadowed  pools  where  the  river  ceased  its  brawling 
for  a  time.  At  night  he  lay  wide-awake  all  night 
long,  asking  himself  a  thousand  questions  he  had  never 
asked  before,  his  mind  groping  like  a  blind  Samson, 
and  crying  out  for  light.  And  at  last  light  came.  He 
was  ignorant,  and  he  swore  he  would  be  so  no  longer. 

Like  most  unlettered  men,  he  knew  little  of  the 
scope  and  power  of  learning.  It  represented  to  him 
then  some  vast  unknown  force  with  which  other  men 
ruled  him.  He  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  only 
his  own  illiterateness  and  Hugo's  book-learning  had 
put  him  in  Newgate  prison,  and  he  determined  to 
remedy  it  as  soon  as  possible. 

This  determination  came  to  him  in  the  dead  of  night, 
and  by  sunrise  he  was  knocking  at  Lukens  the  turn- 
key's door,  with  a  plan  to  carry  his  resolve  into  effect. 

Bess  was  already  up  and  hard  at  work  when  she 
opened  the  door  to  Roger. 

"  Bess,"  cried  he,  eagerly,  "  I  must  have  books,  pens, 
and  paper.  Go  you  into  the  city  this  morning,  and 
bring  them  to  me  ; "  for  Roger  had  still  much  the  habit 
of  command,  instead  of  asking. 

"  Here  are  pens,  ink,  and  paper,"  replied  Bess,  pro- 
ducing a  few  inferior  specimens  of  each ;  "  and  as  for 
reading,  here  are  five  or  six  books  —  one,  of  sermons ; 
a  good  thing  for  a  papist  to  read." 

39 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Roger  knew  so  little  that  he  regarded  even  these 
things  with  respect.  However,  he  recalled  the  names 
of  some  of  the  books  in  the  library  at  Egremont,  and 
it  struck  him  thej^  would  be  more  useful  to  him  than 
sermons ;  so,  taking  some  of  the  coarse  paper  Bess 
offered  him,  he  made  out,  in  a  slovenly,  ill-spelled 
way,  a  list  of  what  he  wanted.  Bess  was  in  no  haste 
to  get  him  things  so  useless  as  she  considered  books 
and  pens  and  paper,  and  it  was  two  whole  days  before 
be  got  what  he  wished.  Meanwhile  he  avoided  his 
late  friends  in  the  gaol  —  of  whom  most  were  rascals  of 
a  very  black  type  —  and  sickened  at  the  thought  of  his 
late  carouses.  And  he  struggled  manfully,  if  awk- 
wardly, with  such  literary  appliances  as  the  Lukens's 
household  possessed.  In  those  two  days  so  great  was 
the  illumination  of  his  mind  that  he  found  out  the 
length,  the  breadth,  the  depth,  and  the  height  of  his 
ignorance.  He  discerned  that  he  could  scarcely  read 
his  own  writing,  that  he  knew  no  arithmetic,  no  his- 
tory, no  geography,  —  nothing,  in  short,  except  what 
he  had  examined  with  his  hands  and  seen  with  his 
eyes. 

Bess  brought  him  a  miscellaneous  collection,  bought, 
not  on  the  recommendation  of  the  shop-keeper,  for 
it  was  a  principle  with  her  never  to  take  a  shopman's 
opinion  of  his  own  wares,  but  with  a  view  chiefly  to 
getting  the  worth  of  Roger's  money  in  the  size  of  the 
books.  To  poor  Roger  then  all  books  were  alike,  and 
he  fell  upon  them  ravenously.  Nor  did  this  book  hun- 
ger abate  during  the  days  he  stayed  in  prison.  In  time 
—  in  six  short  months  —  he  got  a  very  true  notion  of 
what  he  wished  to  learn,  and  after  that  he  continued 
his  fierce  pursuit  of  knowledge  with  order  and  system. 
He    studied    history,    poetry,    and    belles-lettres,    and 

40 


/■„  fli^-'' 


'HERE  ARE  PENS,  INK,  AND  PAPER" 


« 


Roger  Makes  Acquaintance,  etc. 

made  headway  in  French  and  Latin,  of  which  he  ac- 
quired a  scholastic  knowledge.  He  practised  much 
with  his  pen,  and  from  writing  like  a  footman  he 
acquired  the  most  beautiful  handwriting  imaginable. 
He  spent  every  waking  hour  with  a  book  or  a  pen  in 
his  hand,  —  even  the  hour  allotted  him  for  exercise  in 
the  prison  yard ;  and  often  he  rose  in  the  night  to 
study  and  to  write.  His  mind,  naturally  powerful,  had 
been  forced  by  his  early  ignorance  to  depend  upon  its 
own  powers  of  observation  entirely,  —  a  thing  com- 
monly neglected  by  what  are  called  educated  men. 
But  when  on  this  noble  superstructure  of  natural  tal- 
ents and  keen  observation  was  reared  a  knowledge  of 
letters  and  tongues,  Roger  Egremont  was  mentally  the 
full  stature  of  a  man.  In  short,  the  greatest  benefactor 
he  ever  had  was  William  of  Orange,  who  returned  the 
affront  given  him  by  making  Roger  Egremont  twice 
the  man  he  was  before,  or  was  likely  ever  to  be. 

Absorbed  as  Roger  w^as  in  this  new  world  of  books 
and  thought,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  he  was  entirel}'- 
forgetful  of  all  else  beside  or  that  he  became  a  saint  as  he 
became  an  educated  man.  He  had  still  occasional  com- 
munication with  the  outside  world,  and  heard  with 
inexpressible  and  ineffable  rage  that  King  William  had 
bestowed  the  estate  of  Egremont  upon  Hugo,  who  was 
in  the  highest  favor  with  the  Whigs.  The  new  King 
gave  away  English  estates  rashly,  especially  to  his  Dutch 
followers,  and  some  years  later  the  English  Parliament 
forced  a  very  general  restitution  ;  but  no  one,  least  of 
all,  Roger  Egremont,  looked  forward  to  the  coming  turn 
of  affairs.  The  Egj-emonts,  root  and  branch,  were  dis- 
possessed, and  being  naturally  men  of  adventure,  were 
speedily  heard  from  in  various  parts  of  Europe,  —  some 
living  honorably,  like  decent,  poor  soldiers  and  exiles, 

41 


The  House  of  Egremont 

others  very  basely  if  brilliantly.      For  all   these   was 
Roger  concerned,  but  chiefly  for  little  Dicky. 

Almost  a  year  had  passed  since  Roger's  trial,  when, 
in  response  to  a  letter  smuggled  out  of  prison  by  Bess 
Lukens,  Roger  got  a  letter  from  Dicky,  smuggled  in. 
It  ran, — 

Clermont,  April,  1689. 

Dear  Roger,  —  Was  it  you  who  wrote  the  beautiful  letter 
signed  with  your  name  ?  I  hear  you  do  spend  your  days 
in  learning.  How  excellent  it  is,  and  when  the  K.  comes 
to  his  own  again,  you,  Roger,  will  be  a  great  man ;  I  know 
it.  I  hear  the  P.  of  O.  has  given  Hugo  your  estate. 
Well,  I  love  you  as  much  when  you  are  poor  as  when  you 
were  rich.  The  K.,  the  Q.,  and  the  little  P.  are  very  well. 
I  saw  them  when  I  went  to  pay  my  devoirs  at  Christmas. 
I  am  studying  very  hard  for  a  purpose  I  cannot  put  on 
paper.  You  '11  know  it  in  time  —  and  I  am  well  satisfied. 
But,  oh,  Roger,  if  you  and  I  could  only  be  together  at  Egre- 
mont once  again  !  I  love  it  as  much  as  you  do,  and  it  makes 
me  fierce  to  think  it  is  not  yours  any  more. 

Mr.  Egremont  of  the  Sandhills  and  his  sons  were  here 
of  late,  playing  cards  extremely,  and  have  gone  to  Luxem- 
bourg with  the  Count  Deslaudes,  and  a  Scots  gentleman, 
who  also  plays  cards.  I  hear  the  Egremonts  sometimes 
play  the  very  shirts  off  their  backs,  and  it  makes  me 
ashamed  of  the  Egremont  gentlemen.  All  of  the  others 
are  not  so,  however.  Cousin  Hilary  is  grown  very  sober, 
and  is  in  the  corps  of  gentlemen-at-arms  of  the  K.  He 
and  his  family  have  nothing,  poor  souls,  their  estates  being 
sequestered,  as  you  know.  For  myself,  I  have  found  friends, 
and  they  give  me  my  education.  All  I  can  complain  of 
is  that  they  do  not  give  me  all  the  time  I  want  to  play 
the  fiddle.  'Tis  but  an  idle  amusement,  but  I  love  it. 
Dear  Roger,  I  long  to  see  you. 

From  your  ever  affectionate  friend  and  kinsman, 

Rich'd  Egremoxt. 
42 


Roger  Makes  Acquaintance,  etc. 

As  Roger's  new  passion  for  learning  did  not  make  a 
cloud  between  him  and  the  few  he  loved,  so  it  made 
him  not  blind  to  the  attractions  of  a  beautiful  and 
humbly  born  girl,  who  was  now  his  chiefest  friend  and 
daily  companion ;  and  he  could  not  fail  to  see  that 
this  girl,  so  capable  of  love,  anger,  softness,  revenge, 
and  devotion,  was  wholly  attached  to  him.  But  she  had 
a  sturdy  self-respect,  that  kept  the  man  she  loved  from 
presuming  in  any  way.  She  had  not  the  delicate  re- 
serves of  speech  and  manner  that  mark  the  born  gentle- 
woman; she  drudged  willingly  and  openly  for  Roger, 
spoke  her  mind  freely  when  angry  with  him,  and  did 
not  understand  why  he  often  blushed  and  refused  her 
services.  Her  attitude  toward  him  was  rather  one 
of  keep-your-distance-or-I  '11-make-you-sorry-for-it,  but 
it  was  effective.  She  was  already  experienced  in  that 
school  of  temptation  which  must  needs  surround  a 
girl  of  her  beauty  and  condition.  Her  native  honesty 
and  a  truly  sublime  common-sense  had  kept  her  in  the 
right  path  heretofore.  And  when  she  realized,  as  she 
shortly  did,  that  she  was  deeply  and  desperately  in  love 
with  the  Jacobite  gentleman,  the  elevation  of  his  sta- 
tion produced  an  elevation  in  her  mind.  She  saw  that 
Roger  had  an  invincible  pride,  and  if  ever  he  could  be 
brought  to  marry  the  turnkey's  niece,  it  would  be  bet- 
ter for  him  that  a  millstone  were  hanged  about  his 
neck,  and  he  were  drowned  in  the  depths  of  the  sea; 
and  she  scornfully  refused  to  think  of  herself  as  that 
millstone.  So  she  loved  and  drudged  and  sang,  and 
if  she  wept  and  sobbed  sometimes  in  the  darkness  of 
the  night  at  her  hard  fate,  she  did  no  outward,  daily 
fretting.  As  for  Roger,  he  could  not  but  love  her,  if 
only  for  her  kindness  to  him ;  and  however  much  he 
might  doubt   his   own   power   of   resistance   to   Bess's 

43 


The  House  of  Egremont 

charms,  he  had  the  wit  to  see,  and  the  candor  to  ac- 
knowledge to  himself,  that  this  poor  girl  was  the  least 
likely  to  fall  of  any  woman  in  the  world. 

After  much  labor  in  learning,  at  last  the  joy  of  it 
came  to  him,  and  then,  meaning  to  communicate  that 
joy,  he  offered  to  teach  Bess.  She  readily  agreed,  and 
being  complete  owner  of  her  own  time,  Roger  came  to 
Lukens's  rooms  to  play  schoolmaster.  No  duchess  in 
the  land  was  more  mistress  of  her  establishment  than 
Bess  Lukens  of  her  three  rooms  in  Newgate.  Her 
uncle,  a  watchful  gaoler,  but  an  indifferent  uncle,  made 
up  his  mind  with  great  perspicacity  about  Bess  from 
the  first  hour  that  she  came  to  him,  an  orphan  girl  of 
sixteen  or  thereabouts.  She  was  likely  to  go  straight, 
but  if  she  chose  to  go  crooked  she  was  not  of  the  sort 
that  could  be  stopped.  And  as  she  cooked  his  meals 
well  for  him,  and  kept  his  rooms  clean  and  avoided  the 
prisoners,  as  well  as  the  other  gaolers,  he  had  no  fault 
whatever  to  find  with  her.  Latterly  she  had  taken  to 
keeping  the  earnings  of  her  knitting  and  spinning  to 
herself,  and  when  her  uncle  asked  for  them,  had  flatly 
refused  to  give  them  up. 

"  I  '11  make  ye,"  said  Lukens,  feebly,  to  this. 

"  Come  and  take  'em  then,"  replied  Bess ;  but  the 
invitation  remained  unheeded.  Therefore  Lukens  had 
nothing  to  say  when  Bess  informed  him  that  Master 
Egremont  was  intending  to  teach  her  to  write  and 
cipher.  She  could  already  read  a  little,  and  easily  made 
out  the  words  in  the  song-books,  whicli  she  studied 
diligently,  being  ever  singing,  veiy  much  as  Dicky 
Egremont  was  ever  fiddling. 

Her  education  in  reading,  writing,  and  ciphering  pro- 
gressed rapidly;  but  when  Roger  would  have  taught 
her  something  farther,  she  declined. 

44 


Roger  Makes  Acquaintance,  etc. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  There  is  no  need  for  any  more 
learning  for  me.  I  have  enough."  As  the  ideas  of  the 
higher  education  were  unknown  in  that  age  and  place, 
Roger  secretly  approved  her  good  sense. 

When  they  were  talking  thus,  they  sat,  as  usual,  in 
Lukens's  main  room.  It  was  May  again,  and  Roger  had 
been  a  year  in  Newgate.  In  spite  of  his  mind  and 
heart  being  given  over  to  the  new  empire  of  thought, 
he  had  strong  and  strange  yearnings  after  his  home. 
As  Bess  had  said,  he  was  a  countryman,  blood  and  bone 
of  him,  and  sometimes  the  longing  for  Egremont  and 
the  whole  bright  world  of  out-of-doors  came  over  him 
with  a  sharpness  of  pain  for  which  he  had  no  words. 
This  fit  had  been  on  him  for  several  days,  and  after 
Bess  had  announced  that  her  education  was  finished  his 
thoughts  fled  away  to  Egremont. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  I  can  feel  the  grass  grow- 
ing at  Egremont.  'T  is  very  green  now ;  I  think  there 
is  not,  in  England  or  anywhere  else,  such  emerald  green 
as  we  have  there.  And  there  are  a  couple  of  doves  in 
an  old  rose  tree  near  the  fish  pond,  that  have  come , 
every  year  for  four  years  past;  I  wonder  if  they  are 
there  now.  You  'd  be  charmed  to  hear  their  sweet  com- 
plaining, Bess ;  they  sing  as  sweetly  as  you." 

Bess  smiled  one  of  her  broad,  bright  smiles  at  this, 
and  continued  to  knit,  for  she  was  never  idle  a  waking 
moment. 

"  I  thought  much  of  my  hunting  and  fowling  in  the 
winter  time,"  Roger  kept  on,  "  but  at  this  time  of  year 
I  did  not  think  of  killing  any  living  thing.  If  I  could 
but  lay  my  leg  on  a  good  horse  once  more,  and  clap  my 
boot  heels  into  him,  and  have  one  good  gallop  through 
the  park  and  over  the  hills  —  You  should  see  the  roll 
of  the  hills  ;  't  is  beautiful  at  this  hour  in  the  day,  they 

45 


The  House  of  Egremont 

are  so  calm,  with  the  sheep  nibbling  the  young  grass 
that  grows  in  the  sheltered  places.  And  the  oaks,  the 
best  in  England  —  oh,  you  may  laugh  —  I  would  not 
take  St.  James's  in  exchange  for  Egremont.  Not  that 
it  is  so  costly;  there  are  many  estates  worth  more, — 
but  it  is  Egremont,  't  is  all  I  had  to  love,  except  little 
Dicky,  and  that  is  why  I  play  the  fool  about  it." 

As  he  spoke  he  threw  back  wearily  from  his  forehead 
his  curling  light  hair,  and  his  dark  eyes  had  such  a  look 
of  misery  that  it  went  to  Bess's  heart.  And  she  saw, 
besides,  a  small  red  scar  on  Roger's  temple,  which  she 
had  never  noticed  before. 

"  Roger,"  she  said,  leaning  forward  eagerly,  —  for 
they  called  each  other  frankly  by  their  names  then,  — 
*'  what  scar  is  that?     I  never  noted  it  before." 

Roger  smiled  in  the  midst  of  his  low  spirits. 

"  I  'm  sure  you  ought  to  know  it,  as  you  gave  it  me 
with  your  broom-handle.  By  combing  my  hair  over  it, 
though,  no  one  can  see  it." 

A  passion  of  pity  and  remorse  swept  over  poor  Bess's 
soul.  Although  small,  the  scar  was  very  disfiguring, 
and  Roger's  endeavor  to  conceal  it  showed  that  he  was 
sorry  to  have  it. 

Bess  laid  down  her  knitting,  and  leaned  closer  toward 
him,  her  liquid  eyes  filling  with  tears,  and  her  red 
mouth  quivering.  Some  strange  weakness  possessed 
her ;  she  would,  at  that  moment,  have  given  her  right 
hand  to  have  spared  Roger  that  blow.  The  stress  of 
her  feeling  went  like  an  arrow  in  its  flight  to  Roger's 
soul.  His  glance  met  hers,  and  they  gazed,  like  ones 
enchanted,  into  each  other's  speaking  eyes.  Bess, 
scarce  knowing  what  she  did,  laid  her  lips  upon  the 
scar,  and  two  bright  tears  dropped  from  her  eyes  upon 
Roger's  face.     And  then,  her  dark  head  rested  against 

46 


Roger  Makes  Acquaintance,  etc. 

Roger's  cheek,  and  their  lips  met.  Time  was  no  more 
for  them. 

They  were  roused  from  their  dream  in  Paradise  by 
a  vast  and  thunderous  sound,  that  rolled  and  rever- 
berated through  the  hollow  arches  of  the  prison,  and 
was  like  the  roar  of  the  heavens  and  the  earth  com- 
ing together.  It  was  only  the  fu-ing  of  the  cannon  at 
nightfall,  to  close  the  prison  for  the  night,  but  to  Bess 
Lukens  and  Roger  Egremont,  in  their  exaltation,  it  was 
like  the  crack  of  doom.  They  started  apart,  and  each 
rose  at  the  same  moment,  and  looked  at  the  other 
with  a  pale  face.  Bess  spoke  first,  very  calmly  and 
quietly. 

"  I  was  to  blame.  I  know  I  never  can  be  your  wife, 
not  because  of  my  fault,  but  because  of  my  uncle's  vile 
calling.  But,  Roger,  neither  one  of  us  is  of  the  stuff  of 
which  philanderers  are  made,  and  we  must  be  on  our 
guard  lest  harm  come ;  and  let  there  never  be  any  more 
of  this.  For  I  tell  you  truly  that  love,  in  my  mind,  is 
mighty  near  to  death,  and  I  could  kill  myself  if  shamed, 
and  kill  the  man  that  shamed  me,  albeit  I  loved  him 
better  than  ten  thousand  lives." 

"  And  love  and  death  are  near  in  my  mind  too,"  re- 
plied Roger,  with  the  same  quiet  tone  in  which  Bess 
spoke.  "It  will  be  death  to  any  man  who  speaks 
an  ill  word  against  the  woman  I  love,  and  death  to 
her  if  she  betrays  me ;  and  in  every  way  my  love  will 
be  guarded  by  my  life.  You  are  right;  we  are  made 
of  sterner  stuff  than  most,  and  —  " 

"  We  must  beware.  But  know  this :  if  this  moment 
you  should  offer  to  make  me  your  wife,  I  have  the 
coui-age  to  say  nay,  for  I  know  't  would  mean  life-long 
shame  for  you,  and  I  am  not  the  woman  to  make  so  evil 
a  return  for  honorable  love.     And  so,  I  say,  let  us  not 

47 


The  House  of  Egremont 

again  so   forget   ourselves,  and   remember  rather  the 
gulf  between  us." 

"  Bess  Lukens,"  said  Roger,  taking  her  hand  as  if  he 
were  taking  that  of  a  princess,  "  I  have  not  the  words 
to  tell  you  how  much  I  hold  you  in  honor, —  the  more 
so  that  you  have  had  no  shield  in  this  stormy  life  but 
your  own  born  goodness,  and  I  love  you  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart.  You  have  said  there  is  a  gulf  be- 
tween us,  but  that  need  not  prevent  us  from  being  lov- 
ing friends,  and  I  hold  you  as  the  dearest  friend  I  have 
on  earth." 


4S 


CHAPTER   III 

ONCE  MORE   AT   EGREMONT 

THE  summer  and  the  winter,  and  again  the  sum- 
mer and  the  winter  came  and  went,  and  still 
Robert  Egremont  lay  in  prison.  There  was  some  mur- 
muring about  his  case,  but  King  William  was  in  the 
midst  of  his  Irish  campaign,  and  had  little  thought  of 
one  contumacious  Jacobite  more  or  less.  When  William 
returned  to  England,  he  inaugurated  a  policy  of  concil- 
iation toward  the  disaffected,  and  most  of  the  Jacobites 
in  prison  were  offered  their  liberty  on  easy  terms. 

Roger  Egremont's  case  had  always  been  a  perplexing 
one,  the  more  so  as  he  continued  to  be  an  object  of 
popular  sympathy.  A  parliamentary  inquiry  was  threat- 
ened by  the  Tory  parliament  of  1690,  in  particular  con- 
cerning the  giving  away  of  his  estate  to  his  half-brother. 
The  Danby  ministry  thought  it  had  found  a  solution  of 
the  problem  in  this  particular  case,  by  causing  Roger 
Egremont  to  be  informed  that  if  he  would  make  an 
application  for  pardon,  it  would  be  readily  granted, 
together  with  a  considerable  sum  of  money,  and  that  he 
might  eventually  hope  for  the  restitution  of  his  land. 

To  this,  Roger  made  no  answer  except  by  a  contempt- 
uous silence.  The  offer  was  therefore  repeated,  and 
the  reply,  in  Roger  Egremont's  handwriting,  —  very 
beautiful  by  this  time,  —  was  :  — 

"  Mr.  Egremont,  of  Egremont,  in  the  County  of  Devon, 
has  done  nothing  for  which  he  should  ask  pardon  of  the 
4  49 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Prince  of  Orange.  Mr.  Egremont  confidently  expects  to  be 
released  at  an  early  day,  on  the  demand  of  English  freemen, 
and  would  not  therefore  lower  himself  by  asking  favors  of 
a  foreigner  and  a  usurping  prince." 

Clearly,  imprisonment  had  not  broken  the  spirit 
of  this  rash  and  headstrong  young  man.  In  truth, 
although  Roger  could  never  have  brought  his  haughty 
spirit  to  ask  pardon  for  what  he  had  done,  yet,  at  that 
very  time,  a  Jacobite  rising  was  daily  expected  in  Eng- 
land, and  Roger  fully  expected  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
shortly  telling  King  James  at  his  palace  of  Whitehall,  of 
the  manner  in  which  the  Earl  of  Danby's  offer  had  been 
spurned. 

The  years  that  had  passed  had  improved  Roger's 
looks  as  well  as  his  mind,  although  not  to  so  great  a 
degree. 

He  had  learned  much,  and  he  had  suffered  much,  — 
two  great  improvers  of  the  human  countenance.  And 
the  same  improvers  had  been  at  work  on  Bess  Lukens, 
to  her  advantage.  Moreover,  having  a  quick  ear,  her 
speech  had  become  far  more  polished.  Their  relations 
had  not  altered  in  the  least,  except  that  the  longer 
Roger  knew  her,  the  more  he  loved  her,  and  the  longer 
Bess  knew  him,  the  more  she  was  in  love  with  him,  — 
two  very  different  things,  be  it  observed. 

The  two  attempts  of  Lord  Danby  having  failed  to 
get  Roger  Egremont  out  of  Newgate,  and  there  being 
a  considerable  agitation  in  many  quarters  concerning 
him.  King  William  himself  bent  his  shrewd  head  to  the 
business.  And  the  result  was  that  in  April,  1692,  after 
Roger  Egremont  had  been  nearly  three  years  in  prison, 
he  was  roused  one  night  from  a  deep  sleep,  by  armed 
men,  and  forced  to  dress  himself,  blindfolded,  taken  out 

50 


Once  More  at  Egremont 

of  the  prison,  set  and  tied  on  horseback,  and  ridden 
southward  at  a  smart  pace. 

All  through  the  mild  spring  night  the  party  travelled. 
Blindfolded  as  Roger  was,  and  tied  to  his  horse,  a  kind 
of  intoxication  of  bliss  came  with  the  pungent  sweet  air 
of  the  budding  spring,  and  the  steady  trot  of  a  good 
horse  under  him.  He  did  not  apprehend  any  violence  ; 
no  one  threatened  or  offered  to  harm  him,  and  he  was 
by  nature  devoid  of  fear. 

All  through  the  night  they  rode,  and  when  the  day 
was  breaking  rosily,  and  the  rooks  cawing  loudly,  and 
the  low  of  kine  was  heard,  they  stopped  in  a  wood. 
This  being  the  first  horse  exercise  Roger  had  taken 
since  he  chased  King  William,  he  was  overpowered  with 
fatigue,  and  after  having  eaten  ravenously  he  threw 
himself  on  the  ground,  and  fell  into  a  delicious  slumber. 

When  he  waked,  although  he  was  still  blindfolded, 
he  knew  it  was  in  the  afternoon.  He  lay  quite  still, 
listening  partly  to  the  scant  conversation  of  the  men 
with  him,  from  whom  he  could  learn  nothing,  though 
they  were  civil  enough.  They  gave  him  food  again, 
and  told  him  they  would  not  start  until  sunset.  Roger 
lay  on  his  back  on  the  new-springing  grass,  and  drank 
in  greedily  all  the  sweet  sounds,  and  imagined  the  fair 
sights  of  nature  around  him.  He  remembered  Red  Bess, 
and  his  heart  softened  when  he  knew  how  lonely  she 
must  be  then,  and,  no  doubt,  anxious  about  him.  He 
conjectured  what  was  to  be  done  with  him,  and  con- 
cluded that  he  was  to  be  put  aboard  a  ship  for  France 
or  Holland.  Either  would  be  an  agreeable  change  from 
Newgate. 

At  sunset  they  again  took  the  road,  and  travelled  all 
the  second  night,  and  rested  all  the  second  day,  and 
again  set  forth  at  sunset  on  the  second  day. 

51 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Roger  felt  the  strangeness  of  this  kind  of  travel,  this 
blindness  to  night  and  day,  and  to  the  faces  of  his  com- 
panions. But  he  was  travelling  steadily  away  from 
prison  walls,  and  sweet  to  him  were  the  cool  dews  of 
night,  the  silence  and  the  softness  as  his  horse's  hoofs 
beat  the  high  road  ;  and  sweeter  was  the  coming  of  the 
dawn,  the  wide  sweep  of  the  wind  across  fields  and 
woods  and  hedges,  and  the  day  sleep  in  the  heart  of  the 
woods,  the  scent  of  the  leaves  and  grasses,  the  mellow 
drumming  of  the  insects  in  the  sun. 

On  the  last  stages  of  the  third  night  there  was  some- 
thing curiously  familiar  to  Roger,  in  the  way  he  was 
blindly  travelling.  He  knew  instinctively  the  character 
of  the  roadway,  the  sound  of  the  streams  under  the 
bridges  ;  he  tasted  on  his  lips  the  faint  saltness  which 
the  sea  wafts  across  the  Devon  hills.  The  cry  of  the 
birds  was  like  the  greeting  of  old  friends  ;  the  scents  of 
the  woods  and  fields  were  known  to  him.  At  midnight 
the  party  stopped  in  a  thicket,  rising  a  hill.  Roger  was 
told  to  dismount,  and  when  his  foot  touched  the  earth 
his  companions  turned  and  galloped  off,  leading  with 
them  the  horse  he  had  ridden.  As  Roger  struggled  to 
t-ear  away  the  bandage  over  his  eyes,  he  could  hear  the 
disappearing  hoof-beats  of  their  horses  echoing  in  the 
silent  night. 

In  another  moment  his  eyes  were  free,  and  he  found 
himself  alone  upon  a  hillside,  and  on  the  ground  by  him 
a  small  portmanteau  containing  clothes  and  a  consider- 
able sum  of  money.  As  he  would  not  accept  of  his 
liberty  any  other  way.  King  William  had  simply  flung 
him  out  of  prison, 

Roger  recognized  his  surroundings  at  once.  He  was 
at  Egremont.  The  night  was  radiant  with  moon  and 
stars,  and  before  him  was  a  great  rich  beautiful  moonlit 

62 


Once  More  at  Egremont 

landscape,  the  line  of  distant  hills  rising  cloudlike  upon 
the  faint  horizon,  the  masses  of  woods  solemnly  dark, 
the  river  making  its  way  musically  through  copses  and 
thickets,  and  then  resting  silently  in  broad  black  pools. 
Before  him  on  the  crest  of  a  gentle  hill,  was  a  group  of 
rustling  elms,  that  he  knew  lay  between  him  and  the 
view  of  the  mansion.  Dashing  through  the  trees  he 
came  in  full  sight  of  his  home,  lying  in  the  plateau 
below.  The  house  was  lighted  up,  although  it  was  late, 
and  he  could  see  servants  and  many  persons  moving 
about.  Evidently  some  festivity  was  in  progress.  The 
rows  of  great  windows  blazed  brilliantly,  and  the  faint 
echo  of  music  and  the  beating  of  the  feet  of  the  dancers 
was  borne  on  the  wandering  wind  of  night.  Roger 
Egremont  stood  and  watched  it,  with  a  face  pale  with 
imprisonment,  and  pale  with  unspeakable  wrath  and 
anguish.  The  dazzling  moon  showed  him  that  the 
oak  avenue  was  gone,  every  tree  cut  down,  and  he 
struck  his  hands  together  in  an  agony  of  rage  at  what 
he  considered  robbery  and  mutilation  of  what  was  his. 
They  thought,  no  doubt,  that  he  would  go,  like  a  beaten 
hound,  and  ask  his  half-brother  for  a  dole  of  money,  and 
a  roof  to  shelter  him.  Such  indeed  had  been  the  King's 
hope,  knowing  very  well  that  it  would  be  as  much  as 
Hugo  Egremont's  life  was  worth,  in  the  state  of  feeling 
of  the  country,  to  refuse  a  share  of  all  he  had  with 
Roger.  But  Roger  was  of  the  temper  which  will  have 
all  or  nothing.  He  would  make  no  terms  with  those 
who  had  robbed  him. 

After  an  hour  or  two  of  anguish,  he  became  calm. 
One  of  the  things  which  he  had  found  out,  as  the  result 
of  his  newly  acquired  knowledge  of  books,  was  that  he 
had  more  control  over  himself,  more  philosophy  in  short. 
He  knew,  sad  as  was  his  own  case,  that  there  had  been 

53 


The  House  of  Egremont 

worse.  He  recalled  them  to  his  mind,  and  fortified 
himself  with  them. 

The  moonlit  hours  were  spent  by  Roger  Egremont 
on  the  lonely  hillside,  contemplating  the  noble  patri- 
mony which  he  considered  had  been  filched  from  him. 
Until  his  late  introduction  to  the  great  new  world  of 
thought  and  books,  Egremont  had  been  his  world. 
How  to  get  it  back  unless  the  Dutchmen  were  driven 
from  England,  he  did  not  know,  but  the  sooner  the 
actual  struggle  was  begun,  the  better.  He  would  go 
over  to  France,  whither  most  of  the  active  partisans  of 
King  James  had  gone,  and  would  ask  the  honor  of  lead- 
ing the  very  vanguard  of  the  reconquering  army. 

The  vivid  moon  grew  pale  and  sank,  leaving  only  the 
trembling  stars  set  in  the  blue-black  sky;  the  lights 
in  the  distant  house  went  out;  the  earth  and  all  its 
creatures  slept ;  and  Roger  Egremont,  throwing  himself 
on  the  ground,  fell  into  a  heavy  slumber.  The  night 
grew  chill ;  he  had  no  fire  but  the  distant  stars ;  he  was 
hungry,  but  he  had  nothing  to  sup  on  except  rage  and 
sorrow.  And  at  the  same  hour  Bess  Lukens,  lying  on 
her  hard  bed  in  Newgate,  was  crying  her  eyes  out 
for  him. 

He  awaked  with  the  break  of  day.  If  the  sight  of 
Egremont  by  moonlight  had  pierced  his  soul  with  its 
beauty,  it  seemed  to  him  even  more  beautiful  in  the 
still,  pale  loveliness  of  the  early  dawn.  A  faint  rosy 
light  lay  over  the  green  fields  and  stately  woods ;  the 
little  river,  laughing  between  its  alder  banks,  was  like 
a  young  child  in  its  first  merry  awakening.  The  larks 
and  thrushes  —  Egremont  had  ever  been  celebrated  for 
its  birds  —  made  themselves  heard  in  sweet,  soft  cliirp- 
ings  before  bursting  into  full-throated  song.  The  deer, 
red  and  dun,  came  forth  from  the  dells  and  thickets  in 

54 


Once  More  at  Egremont 

the  park,  and  tossing  their  delicate  heads  sniffed  the 
freshness  of  the  morning. 

Roger  Egremont  noted  all  these  things  with  a  heart 
near  to  breaking.  They  had  been  his,  and  they  were 
his  enemy's  —  and  that  enemy  was  the  half-brother  he 
had  befriended. 

He  perceived,  however,  that  he  must  determine  upon 
his  course.  He  concluded  that  he  had  been  flung  down 
at  Egremont  in  hopes  that  the  sight  of  the  place  might 
induce  him  to  open  some  communication,  friendly  or 
otherwise,  with  Hugo  ;  and  he  shrewdly  suspected  that, 
much  as  Hugo  might  wish  to  kick  him  away  from 
Egremont,  the  terror  of  public  opinion  would  force 
him  to  do  the  handsome  thing.  But  Roger  could  by 
no  means  endure  the  thought  of  accepting  anything 
from  his  half-brother's  bounty.  He  wished  for  noth- 
ing short  of  turning  Hugo  out,  neck  and  crop,  with 
such  other  vengeance  as  he  might  compass. 

He  could  think  of  no  place  in  England  to  go.  In  his 
prison  he  had  gained  no  accurate  account  of  who  were 
the  accredited  agents  of  King  James.  He  was  near  the 
sea,  and  he  had  money  in  his  pocket ;  and  in  a  little 
while  he  determined  to  make  for  France.  But  first  he 
would  go  to  his  own  village  people  and  get  food  and  a 
horse. 

Before  leaving  the  spot,  he  knelt  down,  and  made 
what  men  call  a  prayer,  but  which  was  simply,  as  such 
prayers  are,  an  outcry  against  his  enemy  and  an  appeal 
for  God  to  lift  His  hand  against  that  enemy.  Never- 
theless, Roger  Egremont  was  a  man  of  reverential  heart, 
and  devoutly  believed  that  punishment  would  fall  on 
him  for  his  misdeeds,  as  he  ardently  hoped  and  believed 
it  would  fall  on  his  half-brother. 

Then,  scraping  up  a  handful  of  Egremont  earth,  he 

55 


The  House  of  Egremont 

tied  it  up  in  a  handkerchief,  shouldered  his  portmanteau, 
and  made  for  the  village  of  Egremont,  from  whose  cot- 
tage chimneys  the  light-blue  smoke  was  rising  in  the 
golden  morning. 

He  walked  through  the  edge  of  the  park,  steadfastly 
keeping  his  eyes  in  front  of  him. 

As  soon  as  he  struck  the  highroad  leading  to  the  vil- 
lage, he  met  some  laborers  going  to  their  work.  They 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  ran  toward  him. 

"  Is  it  that  you  have  come  back  to  your  own,  sir  ?  " 
they  cried,  crowding  around  him. 

"  No,"  said  Roger.  "  Our  King,  King  James,  has 
had  his  heritage  filched  from  him,  —  why  should  I  com- 
plain? But  mark,  all  you  men  who  till  the  fields  of 
Egremont,  that  I  shall  yet  come  into  my  own.  And 
I  shall  take  no  vengeance  on  any  of  you  who  eat  the 
bread  of  my  bastard  brother,  —  you  are  poor  men,  labor- 
ing for  your  daily  wage,  —  but  I  shall  take  vengeance 
on  him." 

The  rustics  looked  at  each  other  with  meaning  in 
their  dull  faces.  One  of  them,  an  old  man  who  had 
taught  Roger  the  lore  of  birds  and  rabbits  and  hares 
and  other  wild  things,  spoke  up,  respectfully  but 
freely. 

"  Hodge,  the  shoemaker,  sir,  and  myself,  we  have 
often  talked  of  that  thing ;  and  Hodge,  who  can  read 
like  a  clerk,  says  no  good  ever  came  to  a  man  from 
taking  his  father's  or  his  mother's  or  his  own  bastard 
under  his  roof." 

"  Hodge  is  a  philosopher,"  replied  Roger,  with  a  wan 
smile.     "  Which  of  you  has  a  good  horse  to  sell? " 

There  was  a  silence,  until  a  young  ploughman  in  a 
smock  frock  spoke  up. 

"  None  of  us,  master  Roger,  have  a  horse  to  sell  you, 

56 


Once  More  at  Egremont 

but  I  have  a  good  one  for  your  worship  to  ride.  He 
has  not  been  always  at  the  plough  tail,  and  so  is  fitter 
than  the  others." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Roger,  showing  some  money. 
"  After  having  robbed  me  of  Egremont,  the  Dutch- 
man gave  me  fifty  pounds.  The  horse  is  worth  three 
pounds." 

"  Nay,  sir,"  replied  the  young  ploughman,  "  I  would 
rather  have  it  that  you  took  Merrylegs,  and  would  give 
me  the  lease  on  the  barn  field  when  you  come  back. 
The  lease  is  more  to  me  than  the  hoi*se." 

Roger  smiled  again,  not  so  sadly ;  these  people  ex- 
pected him  to  come  into  his  own;  it  was  impossible 
that  this  topsy-turvy  state  of  things  should  last. 

While  they  had  been  standing  in  the  road,  talking, 
the  word  seemed  to  have  spread  like  wildfire  that  Roger 
Egremont  had  come  back.  The  general  belief  among 
the  ignorant  was  that  he  would  go  straight  to  the  man- 
sion, and  oust  the  interloper.  As  if  by  magic,  every 
cottage  on  the  estate  was  emptied,  and  in  half  an  hour 
the  whole  tenantry  had  assembled  in  the  village. 

Roger,  at  the  head  of  a  kind  of  triumphal  procession 
of  ploughmen,  ditchers,  carters,  and  such  humble  people, 
walked  to  the  village.  There  the  women  and  children 
awaited  him.  Hodge,  the  shoemaker,  more  practical 
than  the  rest,  made  his  wife  stay  indoors  to  prepare 
some  breakfast  for  their  former  master ;  and  then, 
announcing  the  fact  in  a  stentorian  voice,  pushed  his 
way  through  the  crowd,  and  carried  Roger  off  to  his 
house  at  the  end  of  the  lane  leading  toward  Egremont. 
That  breakfast,  of  brown  bread,  a  rasher  of  bacon,  and 
cheese  and  ale,  was  something  like  the  breakfast  of 
royalty.  Roger  sat  at  a  little  table,  in  full  sight  of 
the  village  people,  who  clustered  about  the  doors  and 

57 


The  House  of  Egremont 

windows,  watching  him  eat  as  the  courtiers  watched 
'  Louis  le  Grand.  His  appetite  was  good,  and,  as  he 
told  Hodge  and  his  wife,  it  was  the  best  mouthful  he 
had  tasted  since  he  left  Egremont. 

At  the  concliision  of  his  meal  he  rose,  and  taking  the 
pewter  tankard  of  home-brewed  ale  in  his  hand,  he  came 
to  the  door,  and  said  in  a  loud  voice,  — 

"  My  friends,  I  do  not  ask  you  to  drink  the  health 
that  I  shall  drink;  but  I  call  you  all  to  witness  that 
I  drink  death  and  destruction  to  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
and  health  and  long  life  to  his  Majesty  King  James." 

The  crowd  knew  little  of  the  merits  of  either,  but 
King  James  was  an  Englishman,  and  King  William 
was  not ;  in  King  James's  time  the  true  owner  of 
Egremont  was  their  lord ;  in  King  William's  time,  they 
were  under  the  rule  of  an  alien  and  a  bastard  ;  so  they 
hurrahed  cheerfully  for  King  James ;  the  women,  who 
were  more  partisan  than  the  men,  striking  in  with  their 
piercing  treble,  and  even  the  children  raising  their 
shrill  cries. 

In  the  midst  of  it,  a  gentleman  on  a  fine  bay  horse 
was  seen  trotting  down  the  lane  that  led  from  the  park 
gates  of  Egremont.  It  was  Hugo  Egremont.  He  had 
ever  been  an  early  riser,  —  for  Hugo  had  all  the  virtues 
that  bring  success  to  a  bad  man  as  well  as  a  good  one, 
—  and  it  was  his  practice,  like  Roger's,  to  ride  over  the 
estate  before  breakfast. 

The  vulgar  dearly  love  a  sensation,  and  so  the  crowd 
parted  as  the  rider  came  nearer,  and  he  rode  directly  up 
to  the  door  of  the  shoemaker's  cottage.  The  plough- 
man, meanwhile,  had  fetched  his  horse,  Merrylegs,  a 
well  fed  but  clumsy  cart  horse,  and  by  no  means  bear- 
ing out  his  master's  high  opinion  of  him  as  a  roadster. 
A  rusty  bridle  and  a  moth-eaten  saddle,  and  Roger's 

58 


Once  More  at  Egremont 

portmanteau   strapped   on   the   crupper   completed  his 
equipment. 

"  What  is  all  this  racket  about  ?  "  asked  Hugo  Egre- 
mont, as  he  drew  up  his  handsome  bay  among  the 
people. 

"  Master  Roger  has  come  back,  sir,"  said  Hodge, 
pointing  to  Roger  standing  in  the  low  doorway. 

Hugo  Egremont's  handsome  florid  face  turned  a 
sickly  green.  He  got  off  his  horse,  advanced  toward 
Roger  with  outstretched  hand,  and  said  the  speech  he 
had  been  rehearsing  for  three  years  past. 

"  Welcome,  brother.  I  see  you  are  in  bad  case ; 
but  trust  me,  you  shall  never  want  while  I  have  a 
shilling." 

For  answer,  Roger's  wide  mouth  came  open  in  a  wider 
grin,  and  he  did  what  he  had  not  done  since  the  day 
he  was  sent  to  prison  with  his  chains  clanking  about 
his  legs,  —  he  laughed  loudly  and  merrily.  Dull  and 
stupid  as  the  rustics  were  around  him,  some  magnetic 
thrill  was  instantly  communicated  to  them,  and  they  at 
the  same  moment  burst  into  hoarse  haw-haws. 

Hugo  Egremont's  face  grew  greener.  He  was  a  man 
of  great  intelligence,  and  he  knew  the  tremendous 
power  of  ridicule.  He  would  have  mounted  his  horse 
and  ridden  boldly  through  a  stick-flinging  and  stone- 
throwing  mob,  but  this  grinning  crew  disconcerted  him. 
He  spoke  again,  however,  covering  his  chagrin  with 
much  art. 

"  Your  own  imprudence,  brother,  has  brought  you  to 
this  pass,"  he  said  with  an  inimitable  air  of  brotherly 
reproof.  "The  violent  and  unprovoked  attack  you 
made  upon  the  King  at  your  own  table  was  bound  to 
do  you  a  mischief.  As  a  j^ounger  brother,  I  was  help- 
less to  prevent,  but  I  was  alarmed  for  you." 

59 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Roger  said  not  one  word,  but  laughed  again.  He 
could  not  but  admire  the  ineffable  impudence  of  his 
half-brother. 

Finding  it  difficult  to  carry  on  a  one-sided  conversa- 
tion, Hugo  turned,  and  his  eye  fell  on  the  ploughman 
who  held  the  horse  by  the  bridle.  The  beast's  equip- 
ment for  the  road  was  certainly  ridiculous,  and  Hugo 
Egremont  found  in  it  an  excuse  to  laugh  himself,  as 
everybody  around  him  was  laughing. 

"For  whose  journey,"  he  asked,  "is  that  miserable 
hack  intended?  " 

"For  Master  Roger's,  sir,"  civilly  replied  the  man. 
Hugo  Egremont,  still  by  a  great  effort,  kept  a  scornful 
smile  on  his  face  ;  and  then  every  other  face  grew  grave, 
and  the  ploughman  added,  — 

"  If  your  honor  smiles,  sir,  at  the  notion  that  such  a 
horse  is  good  enough  for  Master  Roger,  we  all  do  smile 
with  you.  But  if  you  smile  because  he  has  no  better  — 
well,  sir,  'tis  because  there  is  no  better  one  in  this 
village." 

Hugo,  always  master  of  himself,  and  better  able  to 
see  himself  as  others  saw  him  than  many  worthier  men, 
knew  that  his  triumph  would  be  to  conquer  Roger's 
ill-will.  So,  taking  his  hat  off,  and  showing  a  closely 
cropped  black  poll,  to  be  surmounted  later  in  the  day  by 
a  handsome  periwig,  he  said  smoothly,  as  he  patted  his 
horse's  neck,  — 

"  Whatever  hard  feelings,  Roger,  you  may  have  for 
me,  I  cannot  forget  that  you  are  my  brother  ;  nor  do  I 
wish  to  forget  all  the  kindness  I  had  from  you.  So  I 
trust  you  will  not  refuse  to  come  to  Egremont.  The 
estate  was  sequestered;  what  more  right  than  that  it 
should  come  to  a  younger  brother,  who  could  maintain 
the  family  name,  and  who  would  do  by  you  as  liberal  a 

60 


Once  More  at  Egremont 

part  as  you  could  wish  ?  So  do  not  feed  your  resent- 
ment, but  return  with  me." 

Roger's  reply  to  this  was  what  might  have  been 
expected  from  that  headstrong  and  determined  young 
man. 

"  No !  "  he  shouted,  his  voice  ringing  so  loud  that  it 
frightened  the  cawing  rooks  from  the  trees  overhead, 
"  I  go  not  to  my  house  as  long  as  you,  bastard,  and  your 
brood  are  in  it.  Some  day  I  will  come  and  turn  you 
out  on  the  roadside.     Look  out  for  that  time." 

Roger  Egremont  mounted  his  awkward  beast,  and 
taking  off  his  hat,  made  a  low  bow  to  the  people,  who 
returned  it  with  shouts  and  cheers  and  tears,  —  some  of 
the  women  sobbing  loudly. 

"  I  take  with  me,"  he  said,  "  a  handful  of  earth  from 
Egremont.  Every  night  of  my  life  shall  it  lie  under 
my  head,  so  that  I  may  ever  sleep  on  English  ground. 
When  the  King  returns  and  comes  into  his  own,  then 
will  I  come  too.     Until  then,  fare  you  well." 


61 


CHAPTER  IV 

SHOWING  HOW  ROGER  EGREMONT  FALLS  INTO  GOOD 
COMPANY 

THE  inn  of  Michot  was  almost  as  well  known  at  St. 
Germains  as  the  palace  itself  —  and  Madame 
Michot  and  her  lame  son,  Jacques,  were  as  well  known 
as  the  inn.  For  this  inn  was  the  rendezvous  for  all  the 
gay  blades,  young  and  old,  among  the  fifteen  or  twenty 
thousand  English,  Scotch,  and  Irish  Jacobites,  who 
crowded  the  little  town  of  St.  Germains.  And  especially 
was  it  the  resort  of  the  body  of  guards,  known  as  the 
gentlemen-at-arms,  who  attended  the  poor,  broken-down 
old  King  James  Stuart,  at  the  palace.  Sad  dogs  some 
of  these  were,  and  great  was  tlie  score  chalked  up 
against  them  —  and  oftentimes  generously  rubbed  out 
by  Madame  Michot.  For,  as  the  good  woman  said, 
some  of  the  worst  debtors  she  had  were  among  her 
pleasantest  customers,  and  kept  the  old  place  lively; 
and  Madame  Michot  took  as  much  pride  in  having  her 
common  room  a  jovial  place  as  any  duchess  in  Paris 
gloried  in  the  brilliance  of  her  salon.  These  merry 
gentlemen  from  over  the  sea  made  many  promises  to 
their  hostess  of  what  they  would  do  for  her  when  the 
King  came  into  his  own  again,  —  for,  like  most  men  ill 
treated  of  fortune,  they  had  great  confidence  in  her 
future  favors.  In  truth,  if  Madame  Michot  were 
granted  a  royal  audience  for  every  favor  she  had  done 
an  exiled  Jacobite,  she  would  have  spent   her  whole 

62 


Roger  Falls  into  Good  Company 

time  in  the  King's  company.  She  was  a  handsome, 
stout  woman,  gifted  with  a  good  heart  and  a  true 
genius  for  inn-keeping,  and  cherished  but  one  folly 
in  the  world.  Her  otherwise  sound  brain  had  been  a 
little  turned  by  the  laughing  promises  made  by  these 
devil-may-care,  rollicking  exiles,  —  for  that  was  the  sort 
which  most  frequented  the  inn  of  Michot.  In  her  inmost 
heart  Madame  Michot  fancied  herself  going  to  court  at 
the  palace  of  Vitall,  as  she  called  it,  escorted  by  noble- 
men and  gentlemen  whom  she  had  supplied  with  meat 
and  drink,  never  asking  for  payment.  And  the  object 
of  her  visit  would  be  to  get  something  handsome  for 
poor  Jacques  —  Jacques,  the  only  son  the  King  had 
left  her  at  home ;  who,  but  for  his  lame  foot,  would  be 
with  his  brothers  under  Marshal  Villeroy.  Madame 
Michot  had  never  been  able  to  decide  exactly  what  she 
would  ask  for  Jacques,  but  it  would  be  "something 
handsome,"  and  Jacques  should  be  able  to  sit  at  table 
with  gentlemen. 

The  inn  was  a  stone  building  of  only  one  story,  with 
a  half -story,  in  the  shape  of  a  great  bare  attic,  over  one 
part  of  it.  Originally  it  had  been  a  huge  granary, 
but  being  pleasantly  situated  on  the  sloping  ground 
between  the  forest  of  St.  Germains  and  the  rich  low- 
lying  meadows  through  which  the  silver  Seine  runs 
laughing,  Madame  Michot  had  seen  its  good  points,  and 
buying  it,  had  turned  it  into  an  inn.  It  had  no  court- 
yard, but  opened  directly  upon  a  grassy  space  witli 
trees.  Behind  it,  toward  the  river,  was  an  ancient 
orchard,  and  all  around  it  were  sweet  fields  and  vine- 
yards. Afar  off  could  be  seen  the  stately  chateaux  of 
the  nobility,  proudly  secluded  in  their  pleasure  grounds. 
Looking  upward  to  the  right,  was  that  glorious  terrace 
of  St.  Germains,  made  by  Louis  le  Grand,  and  which  he 

63 


The  House  of  Egremont 

eould  not  surpass  even  when  he  wished  to  make 
Versailles  the  wonder  of  Europe.  This  terrace,  a  full 
two  miles  long,  and  as  straight  as  line  and  rule  could 
make  it,  four  hundred  feet  broad,  with  the  formal 
clipped  trees,  as  straight  as  soldiers  on  parade,  lining 
the  side  toward  the  town  and  forest ;  the  stone  parapet 
with  its  iron  balustrade  on  the  other  side,  overlooking 
a  sheer  descent  of  two  hundred  feet  into  the  valley  of 
the  Seine ;  the  stately  old  palace  of  Francis  the  First, 
with  the  pavilion  at  the  very  edge  of  the  terrace,  built 
by  the  great  Henry  for  his  "  Charmante  Gabrielle ; " 
the  gigantic  flights  of  stone  steps,  down  which 
twenty  men-at-arms  could  march  abreast ;  and  in  the 
blue  distance,  the  slender  spire  of  St,  Denis  shining,  — 
St.  Denis,  where  all  the  French  kings  are  buried,  and  of 
which  that  slender  spire  was  such  a  bugaboo  to  the 
Grand  Monarque  that  he  utterly  deserted  the  palace  at 
St.  Germains,  and  gave  it  over  to  his  poor  relations,  the 
exiled  King  and  Queen  of  England,  —  all  this  beauty, 
poetry,  and  romance  was  in  full  sight  of  the  inn  of 
Michot. 

The  public  room  of  the  inn  opened  directly  from 
the  roadway.  It  was  long  and  low,  with  narrow  slits 
of  windows,  and  a  great  fireplace  in  one  end.  The  only 
fault  Madame  Michot  had  to  find  with  her  foreign 
patrons,  who  had,  as  it  were,  taken  possession  of  the 
house,  was  that  they  knew  no  moderation  in  feeding 
the  fire.  On  mild  nights,  when  a  few  fagots  would 
have  been  a  plenty,  thought  Madame  Michot,  these 
wasteful  English  and  Irish  and  Scotch  would  throw  on 
great  armfuls  of  wood,  making  the  blaze  from  the  fire 
to  light  up  the  whole  place,  and  to  dim  the  candles 
placed  in  sockets  along  the  walls.  Madame  Michot 
protested,  sighed,  charged  for  wood,  and  charged  high ; 

64 


Roger  Falls  into  Good  Company 

there  was  no  breaking  up  the  custom  short  of  turning 
the  exiles  away,  and  she  had  no  heart  for  that. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  room,  opposite  the  fireplace, 
was  a  broad,  low  stairway  of  oak,  blackened  with  time 
and  smoke,  which  led  to  the  upper  story.  This  was  on 
one  side  of  the  great  outer  door.  On  the  other  was  a 
raised  platform,  with  a  chair  and  a  table  for  Madame 
Michot,  and  behind  it  a  cupboard  for  her  choice  liquors. 
An  iron  grille  screened  this  platform  off  from  the  main 
room,  and  presented  a  fiction  that  Madame  Michot  did 
not  know  everything  that  went  on  around  the  huge 
fireplace  and  at  the  long  table.  Madame  Michot,  how- 
ever, had  no  illusions  on  this  point.  It  was  the  custom 
for  the  frequenters  of  the  inn  —  gentlemen  all  —  to 
make  a  profound  bow  in  passing  the  excellent  woman, 
who,  having  grown  very  stout  on  her  own  good  fare, 
did  not  rise,  but  returned  these  salaams  by  a  polite  in- 
clination of  her  head.  Dukes,  marquises,  and  barons  thus 
paid  homage  to  her ;  for  the  inn  of  Michot  was  dis- 
tinctively an  aristocratic  institution,  although  entirely 
different  from  most  aristocratic  institutions  in  being 
very  jolly.  The  fact  was,  however,  that  the  palace  of 
St.  Germains  was  exceedingly  dull,  and  the  inn  was  a 
city  of  refuge  to  gentlemen  who  loyally  supported  King 
James,  but  who  had  no  mind  for  the  austerities  he 
practised.  The  royal  table  was  stinted,  and  the  wine 
was  poor;  the  Queen  went  with  shabby  gowns  and 
equipages,  that  the  money  might  be  given  to  penniless 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  who  eked  out  a  living  in  lodgings 
in  the  town.  Much  of  this  money  went  to  the  inn,  but 
all  who  spent  there  had  full  value  received ;  and  it 
was  a  place  where  a  man  could  laugh  and  sing,  after 
having  done  his  duty  by  the  great  gloomy  palace.  And 
there  was  always  laughing  and  singing  going  on  of 
6  65 


The  House  of  Egremont 

evenings,  and  sometimes  all  night  long,  in  that  quaint 
old  common  room,  to  say  nothing  of  dancing  and  play- 
ing. The  cards  and  dice  were  flying  every  night ; 
the  violins  and  viols  da  gamba  were  forever  thrilling 
and  making  melody ;  some  voice  was  ever  being  lifted 
up  in  song,  proclaiming  the  joys  that  awaited  all  good 
Jacobites  in  England;  and  rattling  choruses  in  praise 
of  war  and  love  and  wine,  and  dispraise  of  William  of 
Orange,  were  perpetually  rolling  and  reverberating  among 
the  black  rafters  of  the  ceiling.  And  the  Scotch  gen- 
tlemen liked  a  loup  and  a  fling  when  the  fiddles  played 
a  Scotch  reel,  and  the  Irish  gentlemen  commonly  jigged 
it  when  the  fiddles  spoke  Irish,  and  the  Englishmen 
footed  it  nimbly  when  "  Kiss  me  sweetly,"  was  played. 

On  the  whole,  the  inn  of  Michot  was  about  the  most 
cheerful  place  in  the  town  of  St.  Germains.  It  was  not, 
however,  the  most  peaceable,  although  in  general  good 
feeling  prevailed.  Madame  Michot  could  never  recall 
without  a  shudder  the  night  that  the  Irish  gentleman, 
Mr.  O'Mahoney,  and  Sir  Thomas  Chesbrough  had  it  out 
with  musquetoons  in  the  orchard  behind  the  house,  by 
the  light  of  a  couple  of  stable  lanterns,  each  gentle- 
man protesting  he  could  not  wait  until  morning  or 
for  better  weapons.  And  the  look  on  the  Irish  gentle- 
man's gray  face,  when  he  was  brought  in  shot  through 
both  lungs,  haunted  Madame  Michot  for  long.  Then, 
there  was  that  affair  between  Colonel  Macgregor,  and 
Sandy  Murray,  Lord  Tullibardine's  nephew,  in  which 
both  were  pretty  nearly  sawed  to  pieces  with  each 
other's  rapiers.  Decidedly,  the  inn  of  Michot  was  like 
the  Com^die  Frangaise  —  it  had  its  tragedies  as  well  as 
its  comedies. 

Like  all  truly  aristocratic  institutions,  this  inn  was  on 
a  democratic  basis.     It  was  "  First  come,  first  served." 

66 


Roger  Falls  into  Good  Company 

Nothing  was  reserved  for  anybody,  and  the  poorest 
gentleman,  who  had  not  got  a  penny  from  England  for  a 
year,  was  as  well  served  as  he  who  had  got  a  remittance 
yesterday.  And  so  great  was  Madame  Michot's  talent  for 
inn-keeping  that  she  prospered  even  under  this  system. 
And  of  this  pleasant  inn  was  Roger  Egremont  to 
make  acquaintance,  about  ten  days  after  he  had  last 
seen  Egremont.  The  evening  was  cold  and  chill  for 
mid  April,  and  a  small,  dismal  rain  was  falling.  The 
river  was  muddy,  and  the  town,  lighted  only  by  the 
faint  gleam  from  candle-lit  windows,  looked  uninviting 
as  Roger  approached  it  in  the  misty  gloom.  Roger  had 
with  him,  to  make  his  way  in  a  difficult  world,  a  pair  of 
pistols,  some  changes  of  linen,  and  less  than  fifty  pounds 
in  money.  His  soul  was  as  gloomy  as  the  evening. 
He  ached,  and  was  wearied  with  many  days  of  riding, 
after  three  years  of  imprisonment.  He  had  grown 
conscious,  day  by  day,  in  seeing  people  at  inns,  and 
along  the  high  road,  that  he  was  poorly  dressed,  his 
horse  was  a  scrub,  his  accoutrements  ridiculous.  As  for 
poor  Merrylegs,  he  was  literally  on  his  last  legs,  al- 
though Roger  had  been  tender  with  him,  and  had  often 
walked  rather  than  burden  the  creature's  feeble  back. 
At  last,  just  as  the  highroad  turned  from  the  river,  the 
horse  suddenly  sank  upon  his  knees.  Roger  leaped  off, 
and  one  look  at  the  poor  beast's  glazing  eyes  showed  him 
that  the  end  of  journeys  had  come  for  the  ploughman's 
nag.  Roger  quickly  unstrapped  the  saddle,  and  sat  down 
on  the  ground  patting  the  horse's  head.  It  came  to  him 
that  the  dumb  creature  felt  the  strangeness  of  his  sur- 
roundings; used  to  the  sweet  fields  of  Egremont,  and 
knowing  only  the  air  of  Devon,  he  felt  lonely  in  this 
strange  land;  and  then  Roger  smiled  at  the  conceit, 
but  smiled  very  sadly. 

67 


The  House  of  Egremont 

After  a  while  the  horse  scrambled  to  his  feet,  and 
just  as  he  got  upon  his  trembling  legs  with  Roger's  help, 
a  horseman,  with  a  servant  riding  behind  him,  galloped 
out  of  the  dusk.  A  clear,  resonant  voice  rang  out  in 
the  misty  twilight,  saying  in  French, — 

"  Hold  !  It  is  impossible  you  should  mount  that  poor 
beast.     The  horse  is  dying." 

Roger  deigned  no  answer  to  this,  but  gently  led  the 
poor  tottering  horse  to  the  river's  brink. 

When  Merrylegs  felt  the  cool  water  about  his  legs, 
he  stooped  down,  and  drank  a  little,  and  then  lifted  his 
head  with  an  almost  human  look  of  resignation  in  his 
eyes.  Roger,  standing  knee  deep  in  the  water,  patted 
his  head,  saying  kindly,  — 

"  Good-bye ;  good-bye,  old  Merrylegs.  You  have 
been  a  faithful  friend,  and  you  shall  have  no  more 
work  nor  pain  in  this  world." 

Then,  trying  to  help  the  horse  along,  Roger  led  him 
to  the  side  of  the  road.  This  brought  him  nearer  to 
the  horseman,  and  quite  close  to  the  serving-man,  who 
was  watching  with  a  grin  the  proceedings.  Roger 
primed  his  pistol,  put  it  to  Merrylegs'  head,  and  fired. 
The  poor  beast  dropped  in  his  tracks,  and  the  next 
instant,  the  servant,  to  his  horror,  found  himself  look- 
ing down  the  muzzle  of  the  other  pistol,  and  heard 
Roger  Egremont,  in  a  passion  of  rage,  crying,  "  Laugh 
once  at  that  poor  horse,  and  you  are  a  dead  man ! " 

The  man's  face  changed  as  quickly  as  Punchinello's 
in  the  show. 

His  master  uttered  no  word  of  resentment ;  Roger  had 
spoken  in  English,  and  the  horseman  responded  in  the 
same  tongue,  which  was  plainly  his  native  language. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  if  you  are  subject  to  these  gusts  of 
rage,  you  will  often  find  yourself  in  trouble.     Neverthe- 

68 


Roger  Falls  into  Good  Company 

less,  I  think  you  excusable  just  now.     I  had  no  mind 
to  laugh,  I  assure  you." 

At  the  first  word  Roger  Egremont  recognized  that 
no  ordinary  man  was  speaking.  The  music  of  the 
stranger's  voice,  his  tall  and  graceful  figure  were 
obvious  ;  his  face  was  long  and  pale.  Roger  could  see 
no  more.  But  to  hear  once  again  the  English  tongue 
was  sweet,  and  to  know  that  here  was  a  man  who 
understood  grief  for  the  loss  of  a  dumb  creature  was 
grateful.    Roger  recovered  himself,  and  replied  calmly  : 

"  He  was  the  gift  of  a  very  humble  man,  who  could  ill 
spare  him,  and  he  bore  me  faithfully  until  his  strength 
gave  out,  —  and  he  was  the  last  living  thing  I  owned 
from  my  country." 

"England?" 

"  Yes.  He  was  not  really  worth  bringing  across  the 
water,  but  I  could  not  leave  him  behind." 

"  If  you  will  do  me  the  honor,"  said  the  stranger, 
"  to  accept  of  my  servant's  horse,  it  is  entirely  at  your 
service ;  and  my  man  can  take  your  saddle  where  you 
wish  in  the  town,  as  I  presume  you  are  bound  there. 
Permit  me  to  introduce  myself.  I  am  the  Duke  of 
Berwick." 

Instead  of  warmly  reaching  out  to  take  the  hand  that 
Berwick  extended,  Roger  hesitated  a  moment.  He 
hated  bastards  so  —  having  good  cause  —  that  he  hated 
the  King's  bastard.  However,  he  did  offer  his  hand  and 
replied,  — 

"And  I  am  Mr.  Egremont,  of  Egremont,  but  late 
from  Newgate  prison." 

"  I  know  you,"  replied  Berwick,  eagerly ;  "  have  you 
news  for  us  ?  " 

Roger  shook  his  head. 

"Truly,"  he  replied,  "I  was  so  taken  up  with  my 

69 


The  House  of  Egremont 

private  wrongs  and  sorrows  that  I  did  not  take  the 
trouble  I  should  to  bring  news  to  his  Majesty.  But 
when  a  man  has  been  shut  up  three  years  in  prison, 
and  when  he  is  turned  out,  as  I  was,  and  finds  him- 
self beholding  his  estate  in  the  hands  of  his  father's 
bastard  —  " 

"  Come,  my  friend,"  said  Berwick,  with  a  bright  flush 
on  his  handsome  face,  "  let  not  that  word  be  used  before 
me.     Remember  your  manners." 

"  'T  is  hard  to  remember  anything  when  a  man  has 
been  so  buffeted  as  I,"  cried  poor  Roger,  throwing  his 
arms  about.  "  I  only  know  that  I  could  not  get  to 
France  fast  enough,  for  there  only  could  I  find  arms  in 
my  hands  to  drive  this  Dutch  usurper  out  I " 

To  this  Berwick  replied  dryly,  "  I  fear  it  will  be  a 
little  time  yet  before  we  shall  find  arms  in  our  hands. 
But  meanwhile  mount,  and  let  us  be  going." 

Roger  mounted  the  servant's  horse,  and  with  his 
portmanteau  behind  him  made  for  the  town  with  Ber- 
wick. Each  scanned  the  other  closely.  Roger  knew 
little  of  Berwick,  beyond  that  he  was  the  son  of  King 
James  and  Arabella  Churchill,  and  Berwick  knew  noth- 
ing of  Roger  beyond  his  name  and  condition;  but  in 
some  way  they  knew  each  other  well  before  they 
reached  the  inn  of  Michot,  where  Berwick  advised 
Roger  to  put  up.  The  episode  of  the  dead  horse  had 
well  served  to  throw  light  upon  the  character  of  each. 

Not  since  the  day  he  had  last  sat  at  meat  in  his  own 
house  had  life  seemed  so  bright  to  Roger  Egremont  as 
it  did  when  the  cheerful  glow  from  the  windows  of  the 
inn  came  before  him,  and  the  sound  of  a  rollicking 
chorus  floated  out.  Berwick  had  explained  the  charac- 
ter of  the  place  to  him. 

"  And  many  of  us,  graceless  dogs  that  we  are,  prefer 

70 


Roger  Falls  into  Good  Company 

this  homely,  cheerful  inn  to  the  palace,"  he  said,  half 
smiling.  "  We  have  not  the  front  to  be  gay  in  the 
presence  of  the  King  and  Queen ;  we  are  cowards 
about  spending  our  money  when  we  see  their  Majesties 
practising  all  sorts  of  privations  that  their  followers 
may  eat.  But  here  we  can  at  least  sing,  —  not  that  I 
do  much  as  a  singer,  for  my  voice  is  like  a  crow 
with  the  quinsy,  —  and  play  for  what  loose  coin  we 
have,  and  talk  about  the  merry  days  ahead  of  us  in 
England;  and  they  are  the  chief  joys  of  those  who 
have  followed  the  King." 

By  that  time  they  had  dismounted,  their  horses  had 
been  led  away,  and  Berwick  pulled  open  the  great  nail 
studded  door  of  the  common  room.  The  light,  although 
ruddy,  was  not  dazzling.  The  chilly  evening  made  good 
excuse  for  a  fire,  —  so  thought  the  guests  of  the  inn ; 
Madame  Michot  was  of  a  different  mind,  but  sighed 
and  said  nothing.  Along  one  side  of  the  room  was  a 
long  table,  around  which  half  a  dozen  gentlemen  were 
seated ;  the  savory  dishes  thereon,  and  the  delicious 
odor  of  spiced  wine  were  like  gales  of  Araby  to  Roger 
Egremont.  About  the  fire  sat  several  gentlemen,  and 
there  was  a  twanging  of  fiddle-strings  among  them  and 
a  fresh  young  voice  soaring  in  a  song. 

"  Nous  n'avons  qu'un  temps  k  vivre, 
Amis,  passons  le  gaiment, 
Que  celui  qui  doit  le  suivre, 
Ne  nous  cause  aucun  tourment." 

Roger  did  not  immediately  recognize  the  voice,  but 
it  thrilled  him  to  his  heart ;  and  the  next  minute  a 
short,  boyish  figure  leaped  over  the  chairs  in  the  way, 
and  began  dancing  an  English  jig  like  mad. 

"  Dicky !   Dicky !  "    shouted  Roger,  joyfully,  but  his 

71 


The  House  of  Egremont 

voice  could  not  be  heard,  over  the  sharp  music  of  the 
violin,  the  gay  clattering  of  Dicky's  heels,  and  the 
laughing  and  the  singing  of  many  voices,  the  rhythmic 
clapping  of  hands,  and  the  merry  stamping  of  feet. 
It  was  honest,  noisy  mirth,  in  which  English,  Scotch, 
and  Irish  bore  their  part. 

Roger  watched  and  listened  with  a  quivering  of  joy 
and  hope;  he  had  almost  forgotten  that  people  could 
laugh  and  dance  and  sing.  Dicky,  at  last,  with  three 
great  thumps  of  his  heels  upon  the  floor,  and  throwing 
his  hat  in  the  air,  ran  toward  the  gentleman  playing  the 
fiddle,  and  choked  him  until  the  fiddle  fell  from  his 
hand ;  and  then  Roger  dashed  through  the  door  and 
down  the  long  room,  and  catching  Dicky  in  his  arms, 
cried,  — 

"  My  lad,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  thee,  and  see  thee 
well  and  hearty  I " 

Dicky,  half  smothered,  gripped  Roger  around  the 
neck. 

"  Old  boy,  you  cannot  be  as  glad  to  see  me  as  I  am 
to  see  you ;  for,  look  you,  these  three  years  past,  every 
day  have  I  said  to  myself,  '  I  wish  I  could  see  Roger 
this  day  ! ' " 

The  Duke  of  Berwick  had  followed  Roger  in,  and 
walked  along,  hat  in  hand,  and  bowing  right  and  left, 
not  forgetting  Madame  Michot  at  the  door.  His  greet> 
ings  were  respectfully  returned,  but  no  man  rose  at  his 
approach ;  the  code  of  the  common  room  at  Madame 
Michot's  inn  put  duke  and  commoner  on  the  same 
footing. 

"  Gentlemen,"  cried  Berwick,  warming  his  hands  at 
the  fire,  "  this  is  Mr.  Roger  Egremont,  of  whom  we 
have  all  heard,  who  hurled  a  plate  of  beans  in  Dutch 
William's  face.     By  what  hair-breadth  escapes  he  has 

72 


Roger  Falls  into  Good  Company- 
made  his  way  from  Newgate   here,  I  know   not,  but 
he  must  tell  us,  after  he  is  filled  with  some  of  the  best 
wine  Madame  Michot  has.     Here,  Jacques,  a  quart  of 
the  best,  mind  you." 

"  Indeed,  sirs,"  replied  Roger,  coloring  and  trying  to 
disengage  himself  from  Dicky,  "  I  am  ashamed  of  much 
in  my  escape.  I  was  taken  blindfolded  out  of  prison, 
this  Monday  a  fortnight,  and  carried  south  to  my  own 
place,  —  not  mine  at  present,  however,  — and  there,  being 
much  vexed  and  tried,  and  knowing  little  of  affairs  in 
England,  I  had  but  one  thought,  to  get  my  carcass 
to  France.  For  I  tell  you,  after  three  years  in  prison,  a 
man  must  be  on  the  move,  I  have  no  particular  news  to 
bring  from  England,  but  rather  do  I  ask  for  news  here." 

Immediately  all  rose  and  crowded  around  him.  It 
was  enough  that  he  had  just  come  from  England.  Such 
news  as  he  had  was  stale  enough,  and  the  frequent  and 
easy  communication  between  St.  Germains  and  the 
islands  made  the  refugees  very  much  acquainted  with 
what  was  going  on  across  the  channels.  But  they 
would  by  no  means  be  satisfied. 

"Is  it  a  dry  or  a  wet  season,  I  pray?"  asked  one 
gentleman,  anxiously,  who  owned  not  an  acre  of  land, 
while  another  desired  very  earnestly  to  know  how  the  fish 
were  biting  in  the  Ouse.  Berwick,  laughing,  came  to 
Roger's  rescue. 

"  Some  of  you  may  have  had  a  taste  of  prison,  but 
our  friend  hath  had  a  full  dose ;  so  give  him  leave  to 
eat  and  drink.  Come  with  me,  Mr.  Egremont,  and  let 
me  make  you  known  to  the  hostess  of  this  inn." 

Roger  followed  him  back  toward  the  door,  and  to  the 
other  side  of  the  grille,  where  Madame  Michot,  stout  and 
placid,  checked  off  the  slips  the  serving-men  brought 
her  for  liquor. 

73 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"  Madame,"  said  Berwick,  bowing  low,  "  this  is  Mr. 
Roger  Egremont,  an  English  gentleman,  late  out  of 
Newgate  prison.  I  will  stand  godfather  for  him  at 
this  place,  and  beg  you  will  give  him  no  inferior 
liquor." 

Madame  Michot,  after  considerable  effort,  managed 
to  rise  and  curtsey  in  return  for  a  profound  salute 
from  Roger,  and  then  he  and  Berwick  returned,  and 
all  gathered  around  the  table  and  began  to  make  an 
English  brew  of  liquor.  Dicky  was  head  man  at 
this,  and  Roger,  inwardly  laughing,  wondered  what 
had  become  of  Dicky's  piety. 

They  sat  next  each  other,  and  every  now  and  then 
Dicky  would  give  Roger  an  affectionate  shove,  to  which 
Roger  would  respond  by  a  whack  on  Dicky's  back, 
and  it  was  as  if  they  had  never  been  parted.  Dicky 
was  quite  unchanged,  —  his  homely,  round,  bright  face 
sparkling  with  good  humor  and  good  sense,  —  and 
Roger  had  seen  for  himself  that  Dicky  was  as  handy 
with  the  violin,  as  sweet-throated  with  his  songs,  and 
as  light  of  heel  as  ever.  Roger,  however,  was  com- 
pletely changed,  and  yet  Dicky  loved  him  not  the  less, 
but  admired  him  the  more.  Before,  he  had  been  a 
taciturn  man,  knowing  little  to  say,  and  having  sense 
enough  to  hold  his  tongue.  Now  he  bore  his  part  in 
talk,  and  spoke  well  and  plainly,  and  always  to 
the  point.  His  very  countenance,  formerly  somewhat 
gloomy  and  vigilant  in  spite  of  a  laughing  sprite  in  his 
black  eyes,  was  grown  open,  frank,  and  animated.  Im- 
prisonment had  made  him  pale  and  spare,  but  his  looks 
were  thereby  improved.  Dicky  thought  him  the  finest 
fellow  in  the  world. 

"And  tell  us,  Roger,  how  you  passed  your  time  in 
prison,"  cried  Dicky.     "  In  your  letters  you  said  you 

74 


Roger  Falls  into  Good  Company 

had  grown  mighty  bookish,  and  your  writing  was  like 
the  town  clerk's." 

Roger  blushed  a  little ;  he  wished  Dicky  had  not  let 
on  that  his  writing  and  his  bookishness  was  a  thing  of 
yesterday. 

"  I  would  have  gone  mad  but  for  books.  There  were 
not  many  Jacobite  gentlemen  in  the  prison,  scarce 
one  when  I  left,  for  the  Prince  of  Orange  has  a  long 
head,  damn  him,  and  seeing  that  the  people  have  but 
taken  him  on  his  good  behavior,  he  conciliates  all 
parties.  But  what  of  the  King's  return? "  he  asked 
eagerly. 

There  was  a  silence,  which  was  broken  by  Berwick 
saying,  — 

"  We  drink  to  the  King's  return  every  night ;  let  us 
do  it  now,  with  a  hip,  hip,  hurrah  ! "  which  was  done  in 
a  bowlful  of  hard  liquor,  and  to  a  roaring  chorus 
trolled  out,  with  Dicky's  high,  clear,  flute-like  voice 
soaring  above  the  rest,  — 

"  Though  for  a  time  we  see  Whitehall 
With  cobwebs  hanging  on  the  wall, 
Instead  of  gold  and  silver  bright, 
That  glanced  with  splendor  day  and  night, 

With  rich  perfume 

In  every  room, 
All  to  delight  that  princely  train, 

These  again  shall  be. 

When  the  time  we  see, 
That  the  King  shall  enjoy  his  own  again. 
That  the  King  shall  enjoy  his  own  again  !" 

The  chorus  echoed  and  re-echoed  among  the  black 
rafters  of  the  roof;  the  King  on  his  knees  in  hi& 
dreary  palace  afar  off  might  have  heard  that  resound- 
ing cry  of  hope  and  triumph. 

Roger,  standing  up  and  waving  his   glass  with  the 


The  House  of  Egremont 

rest,  felt  a  glow  of  good  cheer  and  companionship ;  so 
would  he  sing  and  shout  for  the  King  some  day  in  the 
hall  at  Egremont.  The  thought  of  poor  Bess  came 
into  his  mind  as  he  was  bawling  for  the  King,  but  man- 
like he  made  himself  comfortable  thinking,  "  Doubtless 
it  is  best  that  we  should  part,  but  God  bless  her  wher- 
ever she  is ; "  and  then  he  joined  in  the  chorus  and 
sang  as  loud  as  any. 

Not  many  gayer  evenings  were  spent  at  the  inn  than 
the  first  night  there  of  Roger  Egremont.  When  the 
bats  and  owls  in  the  forest  of  St.  Germains  were  crying 
aloud  in  the  midnight,  the  fiddle  was  again  singing,  and 
the  rafters  trembling  with  the  carolling.  There  was 
a  song  with  the  fiddling,  —  a  very  tender  song,  —  and 
Dicky  was  the  singer.  Some  Scotch  gentlemen  did  the 
manly  sword  dance  very  nobly,  but  one  did  it  better, 
and  that  was  Dicky.  There  was  play,  and  a  good  deal 
of  money  changed  hands,  and  poor  Dicky  lost  all  he 
had  —  about  seven  livres  —  and  laughed  rather  ruef ullj'^ 
at  his  own  ill  luck.  And  at  last,  when  the  black  sky 
was  turning  a  ghostly  gray,  and  in  the  heart  of  the 
forest  there  was  a  rustling  of  wings  and  a  chirping, 
and  a  small  wind  stirred  the  budding  twigs,  Roger  and 
Dicky  went  up  together  to  the  great,  bare  attic  room, 
and  throwing  themselves  down  on  a  pallet,  slept  with 
Dicky's  arm  around  Roger's  neck,  as  they  had  often  slept 
when  they  were  lads  together  at  Egremont.  And  under 
their  pillow  was  the  little  bag  of  earth  without  which 
Roger  had  not  slept  a  single  night  since  leaving  his 
native  land. 

It  was  near  noon  before  Roger  waked.  When  he 
first  stirred  he  thought  he  was  in  Newgate,  as  he  had 
thought  on  waking  every  morning  since  he  left  it. 
But  when   he   opened  his  eyes  he  quickly  recognized 

76 


Roger  Falls  into  Good  Company 

the  large  attic  room,  with  little  in  it.  But  through 
the  open  window  came  cheerful  sounds  of  the  common 
things  of  life,  —  the  creaking  of  a  bucket  from  the 
well,  the  sound  of  voices  in  the  cherry  orchard;  and 
the  spring  sun  was  streaming  in  the  one  great  window. 
Beside  the  window  sat  Dicky,  fully  dressed,  and  deeply 
absorbed  in  a  little  book,  which  Roger  knew  to  be  a 
book  of  devotion.  Roger  laughed  to  himself ;  he  knew 
Dicky  of  old.  The  book  of  devotion  always  appeared 
after  a  particularly  merry  night  in  the  old  days  at 
Egremont. 

"Well,  my  lad,"  cried  Roger,  sitting  up  on  his  pallet. 
"•  At  penance  again? " 

"Roger,"  replied  Dicky,  turning  on  him  a  round, 
rosy,  solemn  face,  "you  should  not  be  so  light- 
minded  —  though  why  should  I  reprove  you  ?  Am  not 
I  myself  more  given  to  idle  pleasure  than  you?" 

"  And  oh,  I  am  a  wicked  fellow,  and  but  little  adapted 
to  the  priestly  calling  I  covet,  more  through  pride  than 
piety  I  fear,"  replied  Roger,  mimicking  Dicky  exactly ; 
at  which  Dicky  laughed  and  blushed  and  threw  a 
cushion  at  him. 

"  Oh,  Dicky,"  continued  Roger,  still  smiling,  "  how 
good  it  is  to  meet  a  thing  as  fresh  as  the  daisies  of  the 
field,  like  you  I  You  will  forever  be  sinning  and  re- 
penting like  a  boy.  Let  me  see  ;  you  are  now  two 
and  twenty,  and  I  am  four  and  twenty  —  heigh  ho  I 
'Tis  time  to  be  rising  and  dressing,  and  then  we  will 
take  a  long  walk  in  the  forest  I  saw  last  night,  —  all 
our  talks  at  Egremont  were  out  of  doors.  Each  of  us 
lias  much  to  say  and  hear,  and  I  think  we  understand 
one  another  better  in  the  woods  and  fields." 

And  into  the  woods  and  fields  they  went,  deep  and 
far;  for  St.  Germains  was   seething   like   a   pot  with 

77 


The  House  of  Egremont 

human  beings,  and  it  was  hard  to  escape  them,  espe- 
cially, if  one  was  late  from  across  the  narrow  seas. 

Dicky,  as  usual,  poured  out  his  soul.  He  had  studied 
hard  at  Clermont,  where  there  were  many  English 
youths  of  the  best  families,  until,  his  eyes  giving  out, 
he  had  been  obliged  to  give  up  his  books  for  a  season. 
The  fathers  at  Clermont  had  sent  him  to  St.  Germains, 
partly  that  he  might  be  within  reach  of  the  Paris  eye- 
surgeons,  and  partly  for  rest  and  recreation. 

"I  am  still  minded  to  be  of  the  Society  of  Jesus. 
But  I  am  afraid  I  am  leading  a  sad  life,"  said  Dicky. 
"I  can't  get  over  my  love  of  fiddling  and  danc- 
ing and  playing;  and  this  town  does  little  else,  it 
seems  to  me,  but  fiddle,  and  dance,  and  play.  At  the 
palace,  'tis  different,  but,  it  seems  to  me,  the  farther 
hope  flies  away  of  our  return  to  dear  England,  the 
more  the  people  frolic,  and  dance,  and  drink.  And  I 
tell  you,  Roger,  my  chief  hope  now  is  in  the  Duke  of 
Berwick,  —  the  Pike,  they  call  him,  because  he  is  so  tall, 
and  thin,  and  straight;  and  I  think  the  name  suits 
him,  because  he  does  not  bend  to  flattery,  nor  to  any- 
thing ignoble.  He  is  the  only  man  who  has  the  confi- 
dence of  all,  and  is  the  favorite  of  the  French  King  too. 
Now  tell  me,  Roger,  something  of  thyself." 

Roger  told  him  all,  not  omitting  Red  Bess,  and  the 
way  she  had  made  his  acquaintance,  and  the  attack 
with  the  broom  she  had  made  on  him. 

"  And  you  would  not  think,  my  lad,  that  any  woman 
could  wallop  me,"  he  said,  laughing  and  coloring  a  little. 
"  But  what  with  the  surprise  and  the  not  knowing  how 
to  defend  myself  against  a  woman,  and  the  girl's  amaz- 
ing strength  and  spirit,  I  acknowledge  I  was  hand- 
somely drubbed ;  and  it  drove  the  devil  out  of  me, 
and  made  rae  once  more  a  gentleman.     I  will  write  to 

78 


Roger  Falls  into  Good  Company 

her  this  very  day,  for  I  have  no  better  friend  on  earth 
than  that  poor  girl." 

"  And  are  you  sure,  Roger,"  asked  Dicky,  anxiously, 
"that  —  that  —  you  do  not  love  this  girl?" 

"Love  her?  I  know  that  I  do  love  her.  As  for 
marrying  her,  I  own  that  I  have  no  mind  to  put  a 
gaoler's  niece  in  my  mother's  honored  place,  or  to  give 
my  children,  old  Lukens,  the  turnkey,  for  an  uncle. 
But  I  tell  you  on  my  word  that  this  woman  would  no 
more  stoop  to  be  less  than  my  wife  than  the  Queen's 
Majesty  herself.  Bess  Lukens  came  into  the  world  — 
a  rough  and  briery  place  for  her,  poor  girl  —  with  a 
natural  virtue  that  nothing  can  impugn.  And  'tis  a 
very  robust  virtue  too;  I  make  no  doubt  she  has 
clipped  many  a  rude  fellow  over  the  head  as  she 
clipped  me.  But  in  general,  men  are  afraid  of  her, 
and  in  spite  of  her  beauty,  I  fancy  she  has  but  little 
trouble  in  making  them  keep  their  distance." 

"  And  Hugo  ?     Tell  me  all  of  him." 

Roger's  face  darkened,  but  he  told  all  he  knew  of 
Hugo,  and  likewise  all  he  designed  to  do  to  his  half- 
brother  when  God  gave  him  the  chance. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  they  returned  to 
the  inn.     There  they  found  a  letter  from  Berwick. 

Mr.  Egkemont,  —  The  King  hath  signified  his  pleasure 
to  see  you  as  soon  as  you  are  prepared  to  come.  This 
evening,  at  seven  of  the  clock,  I  shall  be  in  attendance  on 
his  Majesty,  and  shall  have  pleasure  in  presenting  you.. 
Pardon  this  scrawl. 

Yr.  obt.  svt.,  Berwick.. 

"But  I  am  not  dressed  like  a  gentleman,"  cried 
Roger.  "  I  do  not  mind  that  I  have  not  a  laced  coat 
and  hat,  but  I  cannot  present  myself  unseemly  before 
my  King ! " 


The  House  of  Egremont 

The  resources  of  Madame  Michot's  inn  were  ample, 
however,  to  fit  Roger  out  for  one  night;  and  in  a 
velvet  coat  not  his  own,  and  faded  satin  knee-breeches, 
and  a  pair  of  Dicky's  black  silk  stockings,  he  presented 
himself  at  the  ch§,teau  of  St.  Germains  on  the  stroke  of 
seven. 

He  was  met  by  Berwick,  who  conducted  him  to  the 
King's  closet.  On  this  their  second  meeting  Berwick 
and  Roger  greeted  each  other  like  friends  of  long 
standing.  The  King's  closet,  like  most  things  about 
the  palace,  was  gloomy.  King  James,  lean,  wrinkled, 
broken,  but  still  wearing  something  royal  in  his  aspect 
and  manner,  received  Roger  graciously.  The  Queen, 
poor  Mary  Beatrice,  still  young,  still  beautiful,  her 
dark  Italian  eyes  still  beaming  with  light,  was  more 
gracious  yet.  Berwick  remained  and  the  King  desir- 
ing to  know  all  that  had  happened  to  Roger,  he  began 
and  told  his  story  from  the  day  the  troopers  of  William 
of  Orange  had  surrounded  Egremont,  and  its  master 
had  said  farewell  to  it.  His  tale  was  pitiful  enough, 
and  it  lost  nothing  in  the  telling.  Roger  had  the 
natural  gift  of  the  story  teller;  his  hardships  seemed 
the  harder  from  his  relation  of  them.  He  told  all  that 
had  befallen  him,  except  one  thing  —  the  story  of  Red 
Bess,  the  gaoler's  daughter.  He  was  guarded  in  his 
allusions  to  his  half-brother,  on  Berwick's  account; 
yet  he  could  not  forbear,  out  of  the  stress  and  storm 
within  him,  speaking  of  Hugo  as  "my  half-brother, 
Hugo  Stein,  the  son  of  my  father's  sin." 

King  James  winced  at  that.  Berwick  suddenly 
turned  his  face  the  other  way,  and  the  red  blood  dyed 
his  face  and  neck;  but  he  showed  no  abatement  of 
good-will  toward  Roger. 

When  the  King  spoke,  it  was  not  without  dignity. 

80 


Roger  Falls  into  Good  Company 

James  Stuart  knew  not  how  to  govern,  but  he  knew 
how  to  bear  misfortunes  calmly  and  even  majestically ; 
and  he  was  far  more  kingly  in  his  dreary  court  of 
St.  Germains  than  he  had  ever  been  at  his  palace  of 
Whitehall. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  enrolled,  Mr.  Egremont, 
in  the  corps  of  gentlemen-at-arms.  'Tis  not  much  to 
offer  you,"  he  said  with  a  faint  smile,  "but  it  marks, 
at  least,  my  appreciation  of  the  loyal  gentlemen  who 
have  abandoned  so  much  to  follow  their  King.  No 
doubt,  at  this  moment  the  Prince  of  Orange  would  be 
glad  if  he  could  see  you  once  more  in  the  enjoyment 
of  your  estate,  but  I  know  of  no  Egremont,  so  far, 
who  has  accepted  a  bribe." 

"  True,  your  Majesty,  and  I  thank  you  for  the  honor 
you  have  done  me  in  permitting  me  to  be  of  that  corps 
especially  attached  to  your  Majesty,  to  the  Queen,  and 
the  Prince  of  Wales.  And  I  look  one  day  to  have 
my  own  restored  to  me,  when  your  Majesty's  is  re- 
stored to  you." 

Roger  Egremont  had  never  spoken  with  a  royal  per- 
sonage until  then ;  but  he  bore  himself  so  as  to  win 
favor,  and  backed  out  of  the  room  without  tumbling 
over  his  own  heels.  Once  outside,  Berwick  clapped 
him  on  the  back,  and  whispered,  — 

"We  must  pay  our  respects  to  the  gentlemen  and 
ladies  in  waiting,  and  then  for  Madame  Michot's ;  for 
I  tell  you  that  is  the  best  place  in  St.  Germains  after 
the  King's  bed-time !  " 

To  this  Roger  responded  with  a  wink.  Three  years' 
imprisonment  and  the  loss  of  his  estate  had  not  taken 
all  the  savor  out  of  life  for  him. 

Berwick  led  him  to  a  handsome  saloon,  but  poorly 
lighted  and  indifferently  heated,  and  half  full  of  ladies 
6  81 


The  House  of  Egremont 

and  gentlemen.  A  gentleman  usher  announced  in  a 
loud  voice,  flinging  open  the  door, — 

"  The  Duke  of  Berwick  and  Mr,  Roger  Egremont." 

Berwick  entered,  smiling  and  bowing  right  and  left, 
and  introducing  Roger.  The  scene,  which  was  really 
dull,  seemed  dazzling  to  Roger,  long  unused  to  assem- 
blies of  any  kind.  All  the  women  seemed  beautiful 
to  his  unaccustomed  eyes,  and  his  glance,  wandering 
admiringly  among  them,  fell  upon  a  little  weazened  old 
lady,  sitting  in  a  great  gilt  chair  at  the  top  of  the 
room.  She  was  much  painted  and  bewigged,  and 
must  once  have  been  handsome;  she  still  had  a  pair 
of  black  eyes,  soft  and  flashing  in  spite  of  years. 
Behind  her  chair  stood  a  small,  cadaverous  young 
man,  very  well  dressed  and  extremely  subdued  in  man- 
ner. And  the  old  lady,  catching  sight  of  Berwick, 
screamed  to  him,  in  a  voice  and  accent  unmistakably 
English,  — 

"  Come  here,  Berwick,  and  introduce  that  pretty  fel- 
low you  have  with  you !  " 

Berwick  bowed  low,  and  whispered  in  Roger's  ear  as 
they  advanced, — 

"Take  care  not  to  offend,  for  there  is  the  loveliest 
girl  of  a  niece ; "  and  the  next  minute  he  was  present- 
ing Roger  to  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Beaumanoir. 

"Egremont?"  repeated  the  old  lady,  giving  him  a 
small  withered  hand  to  kiss.  "Are  you  the  son  of 
John  Egremont,  whom  my  Lady  Castlemaine  hated 
like  poison  ?  "  —  which  she  called  pi'son. 

"Yes,  madam,"  replied  Roger.  "My  father  ever 
hated  Lady  Castlemaine  like  the  devil,  and  I  presume 
it  was  returned  in  kind." 

"Hum,"  she  reflected;  "your  father  was  a  sad  dog. 
So  are  some  of  the  other  Egremonts  here.     Mr.  Egre- 

82 


Roger  Falls  into  Good  Company 

mont  of  Sandhills  and  his  sons  are,  I  understand,  no 
better  than  common  touts  and  gamesters." 

"Madam,"  replied  Roger,  with  great  respect,  "I  did 
not  come  here  to  have  my  name  abused.  I  sometimes 
take  that  liberty  myself,  but  I  can  by  no  means  allow 
it  to  any  one  else.  So,  if  you  wish  me  to  stay,  say  not 
one  word  against  the  very  worst  of  my  family." 

"  I  like  your  spirit,  young  man,"  replied  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir,  "and,  God  knows,  few  young  men  have 
any  spirit  now.  They  are  not  as  they  were  in  the  time 
of  King  Charles  of  blessed  memory.  That  was  a  court 
for  you,  —  no  nonsense,  like  this  one,  aboilt  going  to 
chapel,  and  every  man  tied  to  his  wife's  apron  strings, 
and  virtue  and  morality  and  fiddle-faddle.  I  was 
young  then,  and  a  fool,  and  married  out  of  my  own 
country ,  but  sorry  enough  I  was  for  it,  —  not  that  my 
husband  was  not  a  good  man ;  oh,  yes,  too  good.  He 
was  what  they  call  a  duke  and  peer  of  France ;  the 
people  here  of  every  condition  think  the  world  of  'em, 
and  they  think  a  good  deal  of  themselves,  God  knows. 
However,  I  rank  a  French  duke  no  better  than  an 
English  duke  —  nor  half  so  good.  There 's  nothing  in 
France  half  so  good  as  it  is  in  England,  not  even 
the  court  of  the  Grand  Monarque,  as  he  is  called,  —  a 
little  man  he  is  too,  after  he  has  taken  his  great  peri- 
wig and  hat  and  feathers  off.  The  French  court  is 
mighty  different  from  Whitehall  in  the  days  of  that 
angel  Charles  the  Second." 

"  In  what  way,  may  I  ask,  madam  ?  "  inquired  Roger, 
with  an  air  of  the  deepest  interest. 

"  In  this  way,"  replied  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  whip- 
ping out  a  gold  snuff-box,  which  she  offered  Roger. 
"  'T  is  more  serious  at  the  French  court.  No  one  dares 
contradict  the  King ;  and  there  is  a  way  they  have  of 

88 


The  House  of  Egremont 

putting  people  in  prison,  —  lettres  de  cachet  they  call 
it,  —  which  shuts  their  mouths  pretty  effectually.  But 
with  blessed  King  Charles,  we  could  be  as  impudent  as 
we  pleased,  we  freeborn  Britons,  and  even  this  poor 
old  King  James,  in  his  gay  days,  —  for  I  can  tell  you, 
he  was  once  as  gay  as  you  please,  for  all  his  pious 
long  face  and  tiresome  prayers,  —  he  never  revenged 
himself  on  a  lady,  nor  a  gentleman  neither.  I  think 
from  your  looks  you  would  have  shone  at  the  court 
of  King  Charles,"  the  old  lady  suddenly  added. 

"A  million  thanks,  madam,"  cried  Roger,  bowing  to 
the  ground. 

"  I  have  not  seen  my  country  for  thirty-nine  years," 
continued  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  "but  I  thank  God 
I  am  as  English  as  the  day  I  left  it.  I  was  prepar- 
ing to  return,  —  my  husband,  poor  man,  was  dead  and 
buried,  and  I  had  my  affairs  in  order,  and  a  good  sum 
of  money,  and  nothing  to  keep  me  here,  being  minded 
to  take  my  niece  Michelle  with  me,  —  when  this  cursed 
revolution  came  about;  and  the  court  came  to  me, 
instead  of  my  going  to  the  court.  'Tis  a  monstrous 
dull  court,  forever  praying  and  forgiving  their  enemies, 
and  too  moral  by  half.  There 's  Berwick  —  a  pretty  fel- 
low, with  a  good  wit,  but  I  assure  you  he  is  not  half  the 
man  Sir  Charles  Sedley  was,  or  Rochester,  or  any  of 
King  Charles's  men.  I  hope  you  may  enliven  us  a 
bit." 

"  I  will  do  my  endeavors,  madam,"  answered  Roger, 
"  but  remember,  I  have  had  no  king  like  King  Charles 
of  blessed  memory  to  model  myself  upon." 

"  I  know  it,"  sighed  the  old  lady,  "  but  you  '11  do 
your  best.  Now,  here  is  my  grand-nephew,  Francois 
Delaunay;  when  I  sent  for  him  from  Languedoe,  to 
live  with  me  and  perhaps  be  my  heir,  he  was  the  most 

84 


Roger  Falls  into  Good  Company 

strait-laced  little  rascal  you  ever  saw.  He  was  per- 
petually going  to  chui'ch  and  I  verily  believe  the  creat- 
ure had  never  been  drunk  in  his  life.  When  I  would 
send  for  him  to  come  and  tell  me  some  merry  tales,  he 
would  be  reading  his  Bible  or  his  meditations,  or  some 
fol-de-rol.  And  when  we  had  a  little  innocent  lans- 
quenet, the  fellow  actually  had  the  impudence  to  tell 
me  he  had  scruples  about  venturing  money  on  cards  I 
'  Scruples ! '  said  I  very  loud,  for  I  talk  loud  when  I  'm 
vexed,  '  I  know  what  you  mean.  I  have  'em  too.  I 
have  scruples  about  leaving  a  livre  of  my  money  to  a 
white-livered  little  lady  of  a  man,  who  has  not  the 
spirit  of  a  chicken  nor  anything  about  him  that  marks 
a  man  of  quality.'  You  should  have  seen  the  change 
it  made  in  my  little  man;  the  hope  of  money  is  a 
great  reformer.  I  made  him  learn  English  so  he  could 
speak  it  drunk  or  sober ;  and  I  have  driven  him  now, 
until  he  can  drink  and  swear  and  play  like  other 
gentlemen." 

Every  word  of  this  was  heard  by  the  luckless  Fran- 
cois, and  he  turned,  with  a  good-natured,  sheepish  grin 
on  his  face,  toward  Roger. 

"Madam,"  said  Roger,  impudently  taking  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir's  small  hand,  and  holding  it  while  he  again 
helped  himself  to  snuff  out  of  her  box,  "I  envy  Mr. 
Francois  Delaunay,  and  I  will  do  what  I  can  toward 
completing  the  education  you  have  so  auspiciously 
begun.  I  will  take  him,  this  very  night,  to  the  inn 
of  Michot  —  a  monstrous  pleasant  place,  as  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  cackled  the  old  lady.  "  You  are  a 
comely,  saucy  fellow,  not  unworthy  the  company  of  my 
ever  dear  and  blessed  King  Charles.  I  must  make  you 
known  to  my  niece.  She  is  a  taking  baggage.  No 
great  beauty,  although   they  say  she   is,  but  with  all 

85 


The  House  of  Egremont 

the  life  in  her  that  her  cousin  Frangois  lacks.  She  is 
not  here  to-night." 

And  then  Roger,  who  was  amused  by  the  old  lady, 
felt  a  strange  and  strong  dislike  to  this  niece  of  whom 
both  Berwick  and  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  had  spoken, 
and  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  hate  her. 

Presently  Berwick  came  after  him,  and  he  talked 
with  many  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  midnight  found 
them  at  the  inn  of  Michot.  They  had  a  rollicking  night. 
Dicky  was  there,  and  he  sang  and  fiddled  with  gayety 
of  heart.  And  Frangois  was  there,  brought  by  Roger, 
in  conformity  with  his  promise  to  Madame  de  Beauma- 
noir. At  first,  Francois  affected  the  swashbuckler, 
the  rake,  and  the  wine-bibber,  but  when  the  wine 
was  in  the  truth  was  out,  with  poor  Frangois,  and 
leaning  his  head  on  his  hand  he  complained  bitterly, 
to  the  ungodly  merriment  of  the  rest. 

"  Shentlemen,  you  ought  to  pity  me  —  tha'sh  you 
ought.  I  am  by  nature  a  pioush  man,  shentlemen ;  I 
don't  like  caroushin'  an'  drinkin'.  I  wanted  to  be  a 
Calvinist  minishter,  an'  read  golly  books,"  —  Frangois 
meant  godly  books,  — "  but  tha'  devilish  old  woman 
saysh  she  don't  like  golly  men  —  likesh  'em  rakish  — 
won't  leave  me  a  crown  if  I  lead  a  golly  life,  an'  acshilly 
forcesh  me  to  drink  an'  swear  an'  play.  But  I  '11  dish- 
appoint  her  yet.  As  soon  as  I  'm  my  own  man,  I  '11  be 
a  Calvinist  minishter  and  lead  a  golly  life ;  no  more 
drinkin'  an'  shwearin',  —  all  goUiness." 

Roger  and  Berwick  put  him  on  horseback  and  sent 
him  home  at  daylight  very  drunk  still,  according  to 
their  promise  to  Madame  de  Beaumanoir. 


86 


CHAPTER   V 

THE   EASTER  TUESDAY  MASQUERADE  ON  THE  TERRACE, 
AND   WHAT  CAME   OF  IT 

ROGER  EGREMONT  had  reached  St.  Germains 
on  the  verge  of  Passion  Week.  Then  followed 
Holy  Week  and  its  austerities,  which  were  closely 
observed  at  the  old  palace,  but  not  quite  so  much 
so  at  the  inn  of  Michot,  except  indeed  by  Dicky 
Egremont.  Dicky  would  neither  play  nor  sing  during 
that  time,  and  went  to  church  so  early  and  so  oft«n, 
and  fasted  so  long,  that  his  usually  rosy  face  grew 
quite  thin  and  pallid.  Roger  went  through  with  such 
pious  practices  as  he  conceived  a  gentleman  and  a 
Christian  and  an  Egremont  should,  and  fasted  on  Good 
Friday,  and  kneeled  down  with  Berwick  and  others  in 
the  muddy  street  when  the  sacred  processions  passed ; 
but  his  mind  was  much  set  upon  the  glories  of  Easter 
Week,  and  especially  upon  that  great  Easter  Tuesday 
masquerade  on  the  terrace,  when  all  of  St.  Germains, 
and  half  of  Paris  turned  out  to  dance  and  sing  and 
jest,  in  masks,  when  kings  and  queens  and  princes 
and  princesses  made  a  part  of  the  pageant,  and  the 
Grand  Monarque  himself  was  not  above  showing  him- 
self to  his  loyal  subjects.  Roger  heard  much  talk  at  the 
palace  about  the  coming  festival.  He  now  regularly 
attended  in  the  King's  antechamber,  having  been  ap- 
pointed one  of  his  Majesty's  secretaries,  in  addition  to 

87 


The  House  of  Egremont 

being  in  the  corps  of  gentlemen-at-arms.  For  the 
clerkly  handwriting  Roger  had  acquired  in  Newgate 
gaol  recommended  him  —  to  his  sorrow  —  for  the  place 
of  secretary. 

On  the  night  before  the  masquerade  Roger  was  at 
the  levee  at  the  palace,  and  all  the  talk  was  of  the 
next  day's  festival.  Even  Berwick,  the  Pike  —  tall, 
thin,  silent,  dignified  Berwick  —  was  almost  enthusi- 
astic over  it.  A  group  was  gathered  around  the  meagre 
fire  in  the  great  saloon  —  for  all  the  fires  in  the  palace 
were  meagre  —  in  which  stood  Berwick  and  Roger. 
They  had  become  good  friends,  and  Berwick,  in  some 
sort,  had  adopted  Roger,  even  giving  him  a  handsome 
dress-sword,  as  Roger  had  none,  as  a  sort  of  warlike 
gage  d^  amour. 

Presently  a  commotion  was  heard.  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir,  accompanied  by  her  ever  faithful  and 
obedient  Frangois  Delaunay,  fluttered  into  the  room 
and  up  to  the  fireplace.  Berwick  placed  a  chair  for 
her.  Roger  Egremont  picked  up  her  fan,  her  handker- 
chief, and  her  snuff-box,  all  of  which  she  dropped  in 
succession,  and  mightily  tickled  the  old  lady  by  gravely 
proposing  that  he  should  sit  on  the  floor  by  her  chait, 
so  as  to  be  ready  to  hand  her  such  impedimenta  as  she 
might  let  fall. 

"  Oh,  you  darling  rogue !  "  she  cried.  "  Such  im- 
pudence as  I  see  in  your  eye  !  I  love  an  impudent 
man  I  So,  among  you  saucy,  raking  fellows,  you  sent 
Francois  Delaunay  home  to  me,  t'other  night,  the  worse 
for  liquor  I  I  am  a  thousand  times  obliged  to  you. 
He  has  been  more  human  ever  since,  and  less  like  a 
cross  between  a  Trappist  monk  and  a  Calvinist  minister. 
Did  you  do  your  part  in  filling  him  up,  my  lord  duke  ?  " 

"Madam,"   replied  Berwick,    "I  obeyed  your  com- 

88 


The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

mands  in  that  particular  as  far  as  I  could,  and  if  Mr; 
Delaunay  does  not  turn  out  a  villainous  rake,  't  will  not 
be  my  fault  or  Mr.  Roger  Egremont's.  May  I  ask  if 
that  beauteous  niece  of  yours,  Mademoiselle  de  Orantia 
will  grace  the  masquerade  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Lord,  no !  "  replied  Madame  de  Beaumanoir. 
"  She  stays  at  home,  —  what  for,  think  you  ?  To  read  a 
volume  of  new  plays  by  that  low  fellow,  Molifere.  'Tis 
true,  the  French  King  sent  them  to  her  by  M.  de  Sen- 
n^cy,  with  a  letter  —  a  letter,  mind  you.  And  this  is 
not  the  first,  for  when  I  asked  her  the  minx  replied 
as  coolly  as  you  please,  '  Madam,  the  King  has  honored 
me  three  times  before  with  letters.' " 

"Very  reprehensible  of  his  Majesty,"  responded 
Berwick. 

"  Reprehensible  !  Idiot  that  you  are  !  The  greatest 
honor  in  the  world  I  When  I  got  a  letter  from  that 
angel  King  Charles,  did  I  keep  it  from  the  world? 
Not  I,  but  blazoned  it  abroad,  so  that  those  hussies, 
the  Duchess  of  Portsmouth  and  the  Castlemaine  woman, 
were  ready  to  cut  my  throat.  But  I  dare  say,"  added 
the  old  lady,  with  an  air  of  mild  retrospection,  "the 
letters  were  somewhat  different  from  what  my  niece 
gets  from  the  French  King.  He  has  grown  monstrous 
proper  since  that  snivelling  old  Maintenon  has  got  him 
under  her  thumb." 

"  'T  is  said,"  continued  Berwick,  "  that  the  King  of 
France  designs  the  Princess  Michelle  for  a  great  mar- 
riage. You  know,  madam,  one  must  go  from  home  to 
hear  news  of  one's  family." 

"  Very  likely,"  replied  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  "  and 
my  niece  is  the  very  woman  for  it.  Michelle  has  the 
worst  combination  that  ever  the  devil  devised  for  a 
woman,  she  has  love  and  ambition  in  a  high  degree. 

89 


The  House  of  Egremont 

God  made  those  two  qualities,  but  the  devil  mixed  'em. 
'Tis  well  enough  to  have  one,  I  had  ambition,  but 
with  no  nonsense  about  love  ;  the  Queen,  on  the  con- 
trary, can  love,  and  would  give  up  the  throne  of  the 
universe  for  that  poor  doddering  old  —  " 

"  Madam !  Madam  I  "  cried  Roger,  raising  his  hand. 
Berwick  colored,  but  remained  silent. 

"  I  'an't  said  it,"  replied  Madame  de  Beaumanoir, 
with  a  wink  of  her  bright  eyes.  "  I  say,  though,  that 
my  niece  knows  not  what  she  will  be  at.  She  can 
marry  a  princeling  if  she  wants  to,  being  herself  what 
they  call  a  princess  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire.  God 
knows  what  any  woman  wants  with  any  sort  of  man 
but  a  good,  gallant,  fighting,  drinking,  swearing  Eng- 
lishman, —  but  my  lady  has  the  bee  of  a  great  marriage 
in  her  bonnet.  At  the  same  time  she  hopes  and  expects, 
and  certainly  will  love  like  a  hurricane ;  and  you  will 
see  what  comes  of  it.  I  have  lived  long  and  much, 
having  been,  as  you  know,  at  the  court  of  blessed  King 
Charles,  but  never  saw  I  the  woman  who  was  swayed 
this  way  by  love  and  that  way  by  ambition,  who  did 
not  have  vast  vicissitudes  in  love  and  life." 

Roger,  not  being  prepared  with  an  opinion  on  this 
point,  held  his  tongue  ;  but  Madame  de  Beaumanoir 
continued  with  an  increased  vigor,  — 

"  Michelle  is  reckoned  a  beauty.  She  is  not :  but 
she  is  one  of  those  women  who  befool  the  world  into 
thinking  them  extraordinary  handsome,  and  then  pro- 
ceed to  befool  it  in  every  other  way.  She  is  over  fond 
of  reading  and  writing  and  wandering  in  sequestered 
places,  and  riding  far  and  fast,  with  Francois  only  for 
an  escort.  And  she  affects  old  men  and  ecclesiastics, 
and  thinks  about  things  that  no  young  and  handsome 
girl  need  think  about.     However, "  the  old  lady  abruptly 

90 


The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

concluded,  "all  this  is  nothing  to  you  —  for  my  Princess 
regards  a  commoner,  albeit  he  is  an  English  gentle- 
man who  dates  back  to  the  Saxon  heptarchy,  very 
much  as  you  regard  any  humble  creature  who  serves 
you,  but  who  is  as  far  below  you  as  the  steeple  of  St. 
Denis  is  above  the  earth." 

"  Or  as  I  regard  Bess  Lukens,"  thought  Roger,  not 
much  interested  in  all  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  had 
said.  Just  then  the  old  lady  caught  sight  of  Frangois, 
sitting  a  little  off  in  a  corner  with  a  book  which  he  had 
taken  out  of  his  breast  pocket,  and  reaching  over, 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir  brought  her  fan  down  on  his 
luckless  head  with  a  whack. 

"  That 's  for  reading  sermons  in  company,"  cried 
this  terrible  old  lady.  "You  never  see  Berwick 
or  this  pretty  fellow  Egremont  reading  sermons,  do 
you?" 

"'Tis  a  volume  of  Queen  Margaret's  'Heptameron,' 
replied  Francois,  in  an  injured  voice,  — "  the  very 
naughtiest  book  I  could  find  in  Paris !  " 

This  mollified  the  old  Duchess,  and  she  returned  to 
the  charge  with  Berwick,  who  seemed  to  relish  her 
society.  Roger  Egremont  noted  that  the  old  lady, 
after  all,  was  a  person  of  extreme  shrewdness  of  appre- 
hension, and  not  in  any  way  bad  at  heart.  But  every 
word  he  had  heard  of  this  Princess  Michelle  had  set 
him  against  her,  and  he  felt  not  the  slightest  curi- 
osity to  see  her. 

The  levee  was  not  late  that  night,  all  being  eager 
for  the  next  day's  festivity,  and  by  sunrise  next 
morning,  Roger,  in  his  attic  at  the  inn,  which  he  shared 
with  Dicky,  was  wakened  by  the  merry  clamor  in  the 
streets  of  the  little  town. 

Both  of  them  rose  and  dressed  quickly,  for   Dicky 

91 


The  House  of  Egremont 

had  a  black  calamanco  domino,  made  for  him  by  Ma- 
dame Michot's  kind  fingers,  in  which  he  proposed  to 
see  the  masquerade,  as  he  expressed  it. 

"  You  mean,  to  take  part  in  it  with  your  fiddle,"  said 
Roger,  laughing.  "  I  thought,  Dicky  boy,  your  piety 
would  not  last.  But  what  will  your  superiors  say  to 
this?" 

Dicky's  face  grew  a  yard  long. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "They  let  us  do  pretty 
much  as  we  like  when  we  are  out  of  the  seminary  for 
any  reason  —  such  as  I  am  now.  But  surely  they  know 
that  I  love  music  and  dancing  and  innocent  gayety; 
and  there 's  no  great  harm  in  a  domino.  But  one  thing 
thou  knowest,  Roger,  —  I  will  not  do  anything  unbe- 
coming a  gentleman." 

"  Indeed  you  will  not,  my  honest  little  Dicky,"  cried 
Roger;  "and  so,  put  on  your  domino  and  take  your 
fiddle  and  go  and  spend  the  day  merrily  and  innocently  ; 
and  if  you  never  do  any  greater  harm  than  that,  you 
will  have  a  shining  page  in  the  book  of  all  men's 
actions !  " 

Roger  went  forth  himself,  at  first  unmasked,  to  see 
the  sights.  At  three  o'clock  the  French  King  would 
arrive,  to  make  with  the  King  and  Queen  of  England 
a  grand  promenade  along  the  terrace ;  and  the  gentle- 
men-at-arms of  King  James  would  be  paraded  before 
the  palace  gates  to  receive  the  great  King  who  clothed 
and  fed  them.  But  until  then,  Roger  was  his  own 
master,  and  he  used  his  liberty  to  walk  briskly  about, 
exercising  his  awkward  French  as  well  as  his  legs,  in 
the  crowded  town,  the  great  forest,  alive  with  people, 
and  the  noble  terrace,  already  a  panorama  of  delight, 
and  was  charmed  and  delighted  with  all  he  saw. 

By  noon  the  terrace  —  that  glorious  spot,  where  Art, 

92 


The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

taking  Nature  by  the  hand,  showed  her  how  to  beautify 
herself  still  more  —  was  a  mass  of  life  and  color.  The 
April  sun  shone  with  the  golden  radiance  of  the 
springtime.  The  trees  were  in  their  first  fresh  liv- 
ery of  green,  and  the  delicate  and  piercing  odors  of 
young  leaves  filled  the  soft  air.  Two  hundred  feet 
below  the  sheer  descent  of  the  stone  parapet,  lay  the 
grassy  meadows  flecked  with  groves  and  thickets, 
through  which  the  silver  Seine  ran  joyfully.  To-day 
the  river  glittered  in  the  sunlight.  Many  boats  were 
borne  upon  its  bosom,  —  for  Paris  poured  out  her 
legions  of  sight-seers  by  the  water  as  by  the  highway. 
Yonder  lay  the  decorated  barge  of  some  grand  seigneur 
who  chose  to  make  a  water-party  for  the  fete.  Ladies 
and  cavaliers  were  stepping  out  lightly,  laughing  and 
chattering,  and  tripping  gayly  toward  the  great  flight 
of  two  hundred  stone  steps,  that  led  to  the  pavilion  of 
Henry  the  Fourth,  As  they  climbed,  they  stopped  to 
rest  upon  the  stone  benches  placed  on  the  platforms, 
and  watched  the  surging  stream  of  humanity  —  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  men  —  toiling  up  to  the  level 
of  the  terrace.  Next  the  nobleman's  water  party  came 
a  group  of  young  workmen  from  Paris,  in  a  market- 
gardener's  boat.  They  wore  their  working-clothes,  and 
stared  with  impudent  admiration  at  the  great  ladies, 
as  yet  unmasked,  resting  on  the  benches,  who  by  no 
means  resented  the  liberty.  Then  came  a  whole  com- 
pany of  washerwomen,  in  their  spotless  caps  and  fichus, 
who  on  reaching  the  top  of  the  vast  stairs  immediately 
began  dancing  to  a  pipe  and  tabor  that  played  away 
merrily  for  the  few  pence  tossed  them.  Thousands  of 
feet  that  day  trod  those  stone  steps,  and  other  thou- 
sands made  the  great  forest  alive,  and  raised  clouds  of 
dust  along  the   highways;    for  all   roads   led    to    St. 

93 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Germains  on  Easter  Tuesday.  Music  resounded, — 
fiddles  and  flutes  and  horns,  alone  and  in  unison.  Here 
might  be  seen  a  group  of  peasant  girls  dancing,  with 
a  gentleman  or  two,  masked  but  not  disguised,  taking 
a  merry  fling  with  them.  Yonder  a  couple  of  ecclesias- 
tics, in  black  cassocks  and  shovel  hats,  gravely  sur- 
veyed the  scene.  The  streets  of  the  town  were  choked 
with  coaches  and  with  horses  fantastically  apparelled, 
as  became  their  masked  riders.  Servants  lounged  about, 
eating,  drinking,  gaping  at  what  they  saw,  and  occa- 
sionally fighting  for  precedence.  These  encounters,  how- 
ever, were  generally  settled  by  the  combatants  retiring 
abashed  under  the  jeers  and  jokes  of  the  bystanders ;  for 
it  was  a  good-natured  crowd,  which  came  for  its  day's 
fun  and  would  by  no  means  be  balked  of  it.  Beggars 
there  were  too,  in  plenty,  but  even  these  were  jolly 
fellows  on  that  day,  for  their  gains  were  considerable, 
and  they  were  tolerably  sure  of  a  full  stomach  and 
wine  in  plenty.  The  day  wore  on  merrily,  and  over 
the  noisy,  frolicking  town  and  the  placid  green  mead- 
ows below  it  —  deserted  for  once,  because  from  the 
low-lying  fields  nothing  could  be  seen  —  shone  the 
spring  sun,  and  whispered  the  spring  breezes. 

At  two  o'clock  there  was  a  commotion  huger  than 
any  which  had  preceded  it.  The  King  of  France  had 
arrived  with  a  vast  suite.  The  cavalcade  rattled  through 
the  town  to  the  gateway  of  the  ch§,teau,  and  into  the 
courtyard.  The  Grand  Monarque  descended  statelily 
from  his  great  gilt  coach.  In  the  next  coach  behind 
him  was  the  lady  described  by  Madame  de  Beaumanoir, 
as  "  that  snivelling  old  Maintenon,"  and  behind  her  was 
the  mob  of  the  greatest  people  in  France,  who  found 
it  to  their  interest  to  dog  the  heels  and  hang  on  to 
the  petticoats  of  the  astute  widow  of  Scarron.    Madame 

94 


The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

de  Maintenon  wore  a  very  haughty  air  until,  after  leav- 
ing her  coach,  she  followed  the  wake  of  the  Grand 
Monarque,  and  made  obeisance  to  Mary  Beatrice  of 
England ;  when  in  the  presence  of  that  gentle  and 
queenly  woman,  she  assumed  a  look  of  great  meekness, 
not  to  say  abjectness,  being  awed  in  the  presence  of 
true  majesty. 

The  King  and  Queen  of  England,  with  the  little 
Prince  of  Wales,  received  their  brother  of  France  at  the 
foot  of  the  staircase,  and  the  royalties  solemnly  em- 
braced and  kissed.  Roger  Egremont,  who  watched  it 
all  from  his  place  in  the  corps  of  gentlemen-at-arms 
drawn  up  in  the  courtyard,  made  up  his  mind  speedily 
about  the  Grand  Monarque.  He  looked  and  walked 
and  spoke  the  king,  every  inch  of  him,  and  was  surely 
the  politest  man  and  the  finest  gentleman  in  the  world. 
But  whether  he  was  really  as  great  as  he  appeared  to  be 
—  that  was  something  else.  Roger's  pride,  however, 
was  gratified  by  seeing  the  showing  his  own  King  and 
Queen,  poor  and  exiled,  made  in  the  presence  of  the 
royal  brother  who  gave  them  bread  and  kept  them 
from  beggaiy.  James  Stuart  was  a  gentleman,  like  all 
his  race,  whatever  might  be  their  faults,  and  Mary 
Beatrice  of  Modena  well  deserved  the  praise  bestowed 
upon  her  b}^  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  as  the  most  royal  of 
all  the  royal  women  he  had  ever  known. 

The  royal  party  ascended  the  stairs  to  the  apartments 
above  for  rest  and  refreshment,  — a  little  breath  of  infor- 
mality and  retirement,  only  involving  the  presence  of 
about  two  hundred  of  the  greatest  personages  in  the 
kingdom.  The  corps  of  gentlemen-at-arms  was  dismissed. 
Roger  ran  to  a  cupboard  in  the  garret  of  the  chateau, 
where  he  had  placed  his  domino  when  called  upon  to  take 
his  place  in  the  ranks,  and  quickly  disguising  himself, 

95 


The  House  of  Egremont 

made  fast  for  the  crowd  that  surged  about  the  chateau. 
The  first  person  he  ran  across  was  a  little  figure  in 
a  gay  scarlet  domino,  laced  with  silver,  whom  he  had 
no  difficulty  in  identifying  as  Madame  de  Beaumanoir. 
The  old  lady  was  as  sprightly  and  active  as  the  young- 
est, and  Francois,  who  toiled  behind  her,  had  some 
difficulty  in  keeping  up  with  her.  She  promptly  ac- 
costed Roger,  as  he  was  walking  toward  the  terrace, 
and  he  knew  well  enough  what  to  say. 

"  Do  I  know  you,  madam  ?  Certainly  I  do,  but  I 
would  not  be  so  ungallant  as  to  betray  a  lady  when 
she  wishes  to  remain  inconnue.  I  know,  however,  that 
you  have  a  little,  little  hand,  that  you  use  a  gold  snuff- 
box, and  that  you  love  the  English." 

"  Oh,  you  delightful  rascal,  I  know  you.  Is  Ber- 
wick in  attendance  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam ;  he  is  to  escort  the  Prince  of 
Wales." 

"  You  know  what  these  French  call  Berwick  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,  —  the  Pike,  because  he  is  so  tall  and 
straight." 

"  Ah,  but  they  have  another  name  for  him.  '  That 
great  tall  devil  of  an  Englishman,'  they  call  him ; 
and  —  " 

A  fanfare  of  silver  trumpets  cleft  the  golden  April 
noon,  and  the  King  of  France,  with  the  Queen  of  Eng- 
land upon  his  arm,  appeared  under  the  gloomy  archway 
of  the  chateau,  leading  the  procession  of  royalties  toward 
the  terrace.  Louis  the  Fourteenth  was  still  Louis  le 
Grand,  although  slightly  tottering  upon  those  royal 
legs  of  his,  encased  in  crimson-satin  knee-breeches  with 
diamond  buckles.  He  could  still  make  the  most  mag- 
nificent bow  in  the  world,  his  plumed  hat  sweeping  the 
ground,  and  the  April  sun  shining  on  his  vast  pow- 

9€ 


The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

dered  periwig.  And  he  could  still  show  that  splendid 
deference  to  Mary  Beatrice  which  no  man  ever  showed 
so  much  to  his  poor  relations  of  England  as  did  Louis 
the  Fourteenth.  As  for  that  sweet  and  noble  lady,  she 
appeared  queenly,  even  by  the  side  of  the  Grand  Mo- 
narque.  Her  regal  bearing  was  softened  by  an  exquisite 
feminine  softness,  and  she  looked  the  fond  wife  and 
tender  mother  she  was,  striving  to  interest  poor,  sad, 
dispirited  King  James,  who  walked  on  the  other  side  of 
her,  and  casting  back  affectionate  glances  at  the  pretty 
little  four-year-old  Prince  of  Wales,  who  clung  to  Ber- 
wick's hand.  It  was  plain  to  see  why  the  Queen  of 
England  should  love  this  half-brother  of  her  son,  for 
Berwick  showed  in  every  expression  of  his  noble 
face  the  affection  he  felt  for  the  young  Prince,  whQe 
the  child  himself  evinced  the  utmost  fondness  for 
Berwick. 

A  brilliant  suite  of  French  and  English  court  people 
followed  the  royal  party  as  they  proceeded  toward  the 
pavilion  of  Henry  the  Fourth,  and  then  turned  to  traverse 
the  whole  length  of  the  terrace.  They  walked  along  the 
drive-way,  which  had  been  beautifully  swept  and  watered, 
and  laid  with  a  gorgeous  red  carpet.  At  every  two 
hundred  yards  sixty  powdered  lackeys  ran,  and  taking 
up  the  strip  of  carpet  just  passed  over  laid  it  ahead  of 
the  strip  upon  which  the  royal  people  were  then  tread- 
ing. The  promenade  both  on  the  right  and  left  was 
crowded  with  people,  some  venturesome  spirits  stand- 
ing outside  the  iron  railing  and  clinging  to  it,  that 
they  might  see  the  grand  procession  without  being 
crushed.  On  the  other  side,  where  the  great  trees,  cut 
flat  as  green  pasteboard,  made  a  wall,  another  vast 
crowd  surged.  Cheers  and  vivas  resounded,  to  which 
King  Louis  and  King  James  responded  as  became 
7  97 


The  House  of  Egremont 

gentlemen,  bowing  to  the  right  and  left,  while  Mary 
Beatrice  smiled  that  gracious  and  lovely  smile  which 
won  all  hearts.  The  little  Prince  of  Wales,  trotting  by 
Berwick's  side  and  holding  his  hand,  waved  his  little 
hat  and  feathers  gayly ;  and  when  he  grew  tired,  and 
was  taken  up  in  Berwick's  arms,  the  delight  of  the 
people  was  extreme.  Honest  bourgeoisie  that  they 
were,  they  liked  this  simple  and  natural  family  affec- 
tion, and  were  not  afraid  to  show  their  liking. 

Midway  the  terrace  is  a  huge  semicircular  alcove, 
set  around  with  the  flat-cut  trees,  and  beautifully  green 
with  mossy  grass.  Here  were  placed  three  gilded  chairs 
for  the  King  of  France  and  King  and  Queen  of  Eng- 
land. Numbers  of  other  seats  were  arranged  around 
the  semicircle,  for  the  other  members  of  the  royal 
family  and  their  suites,  and  from  this  lovely  spot, 
overlooking  that  fair  valley  —  the  steeple  of  St.  Denis 
in  view,  much  to  the  distaste  of  the  Grand  Monarque  — 
these  great  ones  of  the  earth  watched  the  masquerade. 
The  motley  procession  promptly  appeared.  Coaches 
were  in  plenty.  Phoebus,  driving  his  unruly  horses, 
came  first,  in  the  gilded  chariot  of  the  sun.  The  four 
seasons  followed,  —  the  last  the  ice-king  in  his  snow- 
covered  sleigh.  Knights  and  crusaders  on  horseback 
and  in  armor,  ladies  mounted  on  palfreys,  Circassian 
beauties  veiled  from  the  gaze  of  men,  peasant  women, 
who  wore  jewels  upon  their  bodices,  —  all  the  gay  mum- 
mery of  a  court  bent  on  displaying  itself  in  public.  It 
was  two  hours  in  passing  the  royal  party,  and  the  after- 
noon shadows  had  come  before  the  procession  was  over. 
Their  Majesties  returned  to  the  chateau,  and  then  gentle 
and  simple,  courtier  and  shopkeeper  mingled  together 
in  a  grand  revel.  The  music  clashed  louder.  Anybody 
danced  who  would.     Couples   slipped   away  from  the 

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The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

shouting,  singing  rush  of  revellers  to  the  shady  recesses 
of  the  forest,  and  were  not  missed  —  or,  if  missed,  were 
not  sought  for.  Wine  flowed  freely,  coming  from  no 
one  knew  where.  The  masquerade  grew  wild,  up- 
roarious, and  Roger  Egremont,  his  natural  gayety 
taking  delight  in  such  things,  grew  wild  and  uproarious 
too.  But  in  the  midst  of  a  dance,  whirling  around  with 
his  strong  arm  the  light  form  of  a  girl  dressed  as  a 
gypsy,  whose  white  hand  belied  her,  one  of  those 
sudden  revulsions  of  feeling  which  wait  on  all  who 
know  how  to  feel  beset  him.  He  threw  his  partner 
aside  with  mock  courtesy,  his  soul  revolted  at  her 
paint  and  powder.  He  cast  off  his  domino,  and  roll- 
ing it  up  into  a  ball,  kicked  it  as  far  as  his  heel  could 
make  it  go.  He  had  suddenly  enough  of  revelling,  he 
hated  the  masquerade  then  because  it  had  ceased  to 
amuse  him;  it  was  all  foreign,  French,  alien  to  him. 
He  could  not  act  a  part  long  or  well.  He  yearned  for 
quiet  and  for  green  fields,  and  fled  from  the  music  and 
chatter  and  loud  laughter  as  if  they  were  pestilent.  He 
looked  down  at  the  meadows  below  the  terrace.  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  silent  or  peaceful.  The  river  was 
full  of  boats  moored  to  the  banks,  but  no  one  was  in 
them.  He  saw  not  a  solitary  person  in  those  deserted 
fields  two  hundred  feet  below  him. 

He  walked  quickly  to  the  farther  end  of  the  terrace, 
by  which  he  could  walk  down  the  steep  slope  to  the 
meadow.  The  masquerade  seemed  increasing  in  noise 
and  wildness  as  he  passed  along,  —  the  shouts,  the  screams 
of  laughter,  the  blare  of  music,  the  loud  echoes  of  song, 
■ —  but  it  only  drove  Roger  the  quicker  away  from  it. 
His  rapid  walk  soon  brought  him  to  the  farther  end  of 
the  terrace,  and  he  fairly  ran  down  to  the  steep  hillside, 
toward  those  still  and  silent  meadows  basking  in  the 

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The  House  of  Egremont 

sunlight.  Once  he  looked  back  and  saw  the  whole 
scene  silhouetted  against  the  blue  sky,  and  he  recognized 
easily,  on  the  corner  of  the  terrace,  a  short,  lithe  figure 
in  a  black  domino,  dancing  nimbly  with  a  fiddle  in  his 
hand  accompanying  the  clashing  of  a  pipe  and  tambou- 
rine. Roger  laughed  and  was  glad  ;  it  was  good  to  see 
such  honest,  innocent  mirth  as  Dicky's. 

He  soon  found  himself  more  than  a  mile  from  the 
chateau,  and  at  a  stile  that  led  into  a  sweet  meadow 
that  bordered  the  brink  of  the  quiet  river.  For  the  last 
quarter  of  an  hour  he  had  not  seen  a  human  being,  or 
heard  the  sound  of  a  human  voice.  It  was  about  five 
o'clock,  and  the  afternoon  sun  still  shone  golden  fair. 
Between  the  meadows  and  the  glittering  river  was  an 
irregular  hedge  of  ancient  and  thorny  rose-bushes,  turn- 
ing faintly  green  in  their  brown.  The  shadows  were 
growing  long  by  that  time,  and  dappled  the  fresh  young 
grass.  Nothing  broke  the  silence  but  the  occasional 
echo  of  a  bird -song  in  the  woods  close  by.  It  was  so 
sweet  and  peaceful  —  it  was  so  like  Egremont,  Roger 
thought,  for  that  was  his  standard  of  comparison  — 
that  he  was  melted  by  the  pleasure  and  the  pain  of  it. 
He  sat  down  on  the  ground,  under  the  rose  trees,  and 
before  he  knew  it  he  had  fallen  into  a  soft  and  shallow 
sleep,  full  of  airy  dreams.  He  knew  not  how  long  he 
slept,  but  he  was  awakened  by  the  consciousness  of 
some  one  near  him.  Whether  it  was  in  his  dream,  or 
whether  he  saw  it,  he  could  not  tell,  —  but  a  girl's  light 
step  was  close  to  him,  and  soft  eyes  looked  down  on 
him  for  one  moment.  So  strong  was  this  feeling  that 
as  soon  as  he  opened  his  eyes  he  looked  about  him  for 
the  lady  of  his  dream  ;  and  there  she  was,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  rose  tree,  her  graceful  head  half  turned  away 
from  him,  tiptoeing  on  one  dainty,  satin-shod  foot,  and 

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The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

reaching  upward  after  something  just  above  her  hand. 
Her  gown  was  of  a  pale,  jocund  yellow,  and  in  the  hand 
that  hung  by  her  side  she  held  a  large  hat.  The  sun 
shone  on  her  black  hair,  unprofaned  by  powder,  and 
tied  with  only  a  black  ribbon ;  her  eyes  were  very  dark, 
with  long  black  lashes,  and  her  complexion  of  a  kind  of 
rosy  pallor,  like  the  first  sky  of  morning.  There  was 
something  of  the  dawn  and  the  dew  in  her  speaking 
face.  And  at  the  first  glance  that  Roger  Egremont  had 
of  her  a  flash  of  light  and  life  passed  into  his  soul  and 
took  possession  of  it.  The  Great  Usurper  had  come 
into  his  kingdom,  had  overset  in  one  moment  of  time 
all  that  had  been  there  before,  and  without  so  much  as 
saying,  "  By  your  leave,"  or  "  Is  it  a  convenient 
season  ?  "  had  set  up  his  rule  and  sceptre. 

Roger,  as  wide-awake  as  the  sun  at  noonday,  rose 
quickly  to  his  feet.  The  lady  of  his  dream  was  on  the 
other  side  of  the  rose-tree  then,  but  he  could  see  her 
plainly,  and  above  the  faint  twittering  of  a  bird  in  the 
bough  above  him,  he  heard  the  silken  rustle  of  her  skirt 
as  she  moved,  still  trying  to  touch  something  beyond 
her  reach ;  and  the  something  was  a  long  piece  of 
filmy  lace  that  the  heedless  wind  had  carried  high  up 
on  the  rose  tree.  Roger  walked  around  the  other  side 
of  the  bush,  and  bowing  low,  hat  in  hand,  as  when  he 
bowed  to  the  Queen,  said,  — 

"Madam,  permit  me,"  and  carefully  disentangling 
the  lace,  handed  it  to  her  with  another  bow. 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,"  she  said,  curtseying  deeply. 
"  I  should  have  lost  my  lace  but  for  you.  'T  is  my  cus- 
tom, like  many  ladies  who  reside  near  here,  to  wash 
and  bleach  my  laces  in  this  sunny  meadow  in  the 
springtime.  And  this  day,  being  sure  that  few,  if  any, 
persons   would  be   here,    I   brought  my   treasures.     I 

101 


The  House  of  Egremont 

feared  I  should  lose  this  piece,  which  you  have  so 
kindly  rescued  for  me." 

Her  voice  had  a  reed-like  sweetness,  and  there  was  in 
her  manner  a  kind  of  haughty  ease  and  graceful  arro- 
gance. She  was,  indeed,  so  perfectly  composed  that  a 
horrid  thought  entered  Roger's  mind:  she  might  be 
married!  She  looked  to  be  about  twenty  years  of 
age.  Both  had  spoken  in  English,  but  Roger  at  once 
detected  a  slight  foreign  accent  in  her  speech. 

"  The  quiet  here  is  very  sweet,  after  the  noise  and 
brawling  of  the  town  and  the  terrace,"  he  said  boldly, 
determined  not  to  let  her  depart  without  a  word.  "  I 
too  knew  this  meadow  would  not  be  much  frequented 
to-day,  and  so  I  came  ;  and  the  quietness  and  the  sweet- 
ness put  me  to  sleep." 

She  smiled  quite  broadly  at  this,  and  without  the 
least  embarrassment  replied,  — 

"  I  saw  you  sleeping,  and  stepped  as  carefully  as  I 
could ;  the  rustle  of  my  gown  was  very  near  you." 

"  I  knew  it,"  coolly  replied  Roger ;  "  I  felt  it  in  my 
sleep." 

My  lady  was  by  no  means  disconcerted  at  this  daring 
speech,  but  was  rather  amused  at  it.  Something  in  her 
manner,  without  the  least  rudeness,  indicated  superiority, 
and  this  secretly  nettled  Roger,  who  thereupon  put 
something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice  and  the  glance  of  his 
eye  that  indicated  perfect  equality. 

"  Did  you  not  see  the  masquerade,  madam  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  No,"  replied  my  lady,  "  I  have  seen  many  masquer- 
ades, —  and  besides,  I  had  letters  to  write,  and  books 
to  read,  and  laces  to  wash." 

Roger  knew  enough  of  the  world,  and  in  particular 
of  the  French  world,  to  feel  certain  that  only  a  very 

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The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

great  lady,  or  else  a  woman  of  a  very  humble  class, 
would  so  talk  with  a  stranger. 

"  I,  madam,  might  have  found  letters  to  write  and 
books  to  read,  though  I  have  no  laces  to  wash.  But  I 
had  never  before  seen  a  masquerade.  I  have  been  three 
years  in  prison,  for  loyalty  to  my  King,  James  Stuart, 
and  in  all  those  three  years  I  had  not  once  breathed 
God's  free  air,  or  trod  this  green  earth  of  ours ;  and 
to  be  once  more  my  own  man,  free  to  see,  to  walk,  to 
speak,  to  mix  with  crowds  at  will,  was  so  sweet  to 
me  that  I  thirsted  for  this  masquerade.  Then  I 
wearied  of  it." 

"  Yes,"  replied  my  lady,  "  I  have  often  noted  that  the 
way  to  cure  a  man  of  a  liking  for  anything  is  to  give 
him  all  that  he  wants,  and  more,  of  it.  'T  will  cure  you 
of  something  more  than  a  taste  for  masquerades." 

Roger  opened  his  eyes  a  little  wider  at  this  sharpness 
of  wit.  When  and  how  and  where  and  for  what  purpose 
had  this  rose-lipped  girl  observed  men  so  closely  ? 

"Thank  you,  madam,  for  those  words  of  wisdom-, 
I  shall  ever  remember  them,"  he  replied  with  a  low 
bow ;  "  and  all  that  I  ask  of  Fate  is  at  least  to  try  me 
with  giving  me  exactly  what  I  want  in  life.  So  far 
the  jade  has  given  me  all  I  did  not  want.  In  this 
world  a  man  must  be  hammer  or  anvil,  pestle  or 
mortar,  bellows  or  fire.  I  have  ardently  desired  to 
be  the  hammer,  the  pestle,  the  bellows ;  but  Fate  has 
made  me  the  anvil,  the  mortar,  the  fire." 

"  No  matter  what  we  want  in  life,"  replied  my  lady, 
gently  and  graciously,  "  there  are  but  three  things  of 
which  we  may  be  certain,  —  work,  pain,  death." 

These  words,  so  calmly  uttered  by  this  fair  woman, 
in  that  place  and  at  that  time,  came  like  a  dash  of  cold 
water  to   Roger   Egremont.      He  repeated  to   himself 

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The  House  of  Egremont 

under  his  breath  the  three  words,  — "  work,  pain, 
death ;  "  and  my  lady  watched  him  narrowly.  He  saw 
in  her  black  eyes  deep  melancholy,  despite  her  smil- 
ing mouth.  An  old  superstition  flashed  into  his  mind, 
that  one's  fate  was  revealed  in  one's  eyes,  and  he 
saw  many  strange  vicissitudes  pictured  in  the  soft 
splendor  of  those  eyes. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "that  same  thought  was  vaguely 
with  me  just  now  when  I  left  the  masquerade.  If  I  be 
not  too  free,  does  it  not  seem  as  if  we  had  been  this 
day  thinking  the  same  thoughts  ?  And,  strangely,  —  but, 
after  all,  not  strangely,  —  we  meet,  we  speak  together. 
Do  you  remember,  madam,  how  the  Seine  and  the  Aube 
meet  at  Pont-le-Roi  ?  They  have  flowed  apart  for 
leagues  and  leagues  and  leagues,  but  they  flowed  apart 
only  to  meet  at  last  at  Pont-le-Roi.  I  mean  this  solely 
of  our  thoughts,  madam,"  he  hastily  added,  seeing  a 
danger  signal  in  the  lighting  up  of  her  eyes  and  a  faint 
drawing  away  of  her  silken  skirts.  "  Pray  pardon  me 
if  I  am  bold  of  speech,  —  but  I  am  so  lately  out  of  prison, 
so  new  to  the  society  of  my  kind  — "  he  continued, 
with  the  humblest  manner  in  the  world,  as  he  could 
well  afford,  having  spoken  his  mind  precisely  as  he 
wished. 

"  I  believe,  sir,"  replied  my  lady,  "  that  you  were 
bold  of  speech  before  ever  you  were  in  prison,  and  you 
will  be  bold  of  speech  if  you  never  see  prison  walls 
again." 

At  which  Roger  chose  to  laugh,  treating  it  rather  as 
a  witticism  than  a  rebuke. 

"  At  least  pardon  an  exile,  madam,  and  pray  for  me, 
that  I  may  once  more  be  with  my  own  King  in  my  own 
country,  on  my  own  estate,  with  my  own  roof  over  me, 
my  own  horse  under  me,  and  my  own  sky  above  me." 

104 


The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

By  which  he  wished  to  convey  that  he  was  a  gentleman 
of  condition. 

"  What ! "  cried  the  lady,  "  is  not  France  good  enough 
for  you  ?  " 

"  France,  madam,  is  the  best  country  in  the  world  • — 
except  England.  France  is  close  to  me,  like  my  coat, 
but  England  is  my  shirt  —  nay,  more,  it  is  my  skin." 

"  I  am  half  English  too,"  she  replied,  and  then,  Roger 
uttering  an  exclamation  and  advancing  a  step,  she 
withdrew  a  little  and  making  a  deep  curtsey,  said, — 

"  Sir,  I  bid  you  good  evening." 

"  Madam,  your  most  obedient,"  was  Roger's  reply, 
with  all  courtliness. 

She  turned  and  followed  a  path  that  led  through  the 
meadows,  and  into  the  pleasure  grounds  of  a  chateau 
whose  windows  gleamed  through  the  budding  trees 
as  the  western  sun  touched  them.  In  an  instant  her 
identity  was  revealed  to  Roger  Egremont ;  she  was  the 
Princess  de  Orantia,  and  the  chateau,  toward  which  she 
walked  with  a  step  as  light  as  a  breeze,  was  the  chateau 
of  Madame  de  Beaumanoir ! 

Roger  stood  still,  watching  Michelle's  slight  figure  as 
it  disappeared,  and  then  looking  at  the  spot  where  she 
had  been.  In-  the  mossy  earth  beside  him,  he  saw  the 
imprint  of  her  dainty  satin  shoes;  he  stood  gazing 
before  him,  and  her  voice  was  still  in  his  ear,  and  the 
air  was  full  of  the  faint  perfume  which  exhaled  from 
her  robe.  He  asked  himself  innumerable  questions 
about  her.  Was  she  really  beautiful  ?  What  he  meant 
was  to  ask  if  she  were  captivating.  To  that  he  could 
answer  yes  ;  but  as  for  regular  beauty  —  she  suggested 
it,  and  had,  certainly,  a  fine  air  and  beautiful  black  eyes, 
but  he  could  say  in  truth  he  had  seen  many  handsomer 
women.     For  real  beauty  of  form  and  color  she  could 

105 


The  House  of  Egremont 

not  be  matched  in  any  way  against  Bess  Lukens ;  the 
gaoler's  niece  was  far  and  away  beyond  the  daughter 
of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire.  But,  fiercely  as  he  might 
fight,  he  could  not  drive  that  usurping  passion  out. 
He  had  seen  Bess  Lukens  daily  for  three  years,  and 
loved  her  well,  and  yet  he  had  held  the  empire  of  his 
soul  against  her.  And  here  came  this  slender,  haughty, 
prettyish  girl,  and  he  was  lost  —  lost — lost  for  ever- 
more ! 

The  way  in  which  Roger  took  this  was  as  every 
courageous  man  takes  the  inevitable,  in  love,  in  war,  in 
all  things.  He  had,  at  the  first  glance,  fallen  deeply  in 
love  with  a  woman  who  esteemed  herself  far  above  him ; 
and  this  was  truly  a  great  catastrophe,  and  one  upon 
which  he  had  not  reckoned.  But  it  was  to  be  borne 
as  becomes  a  man,  —  silently,  unflinchingly,  and  debon- 
airly. So  he  walked  about  on  the  river's  edge  until  the 
April  twilight  fell,  and  the  people  who  came  by  boat 
from  Paris  had  trooped  down  to  the  landing  near 
the  town,  and  the  boats  filled  with  revellers  were 
gliding  past  on  the  bosom  of  the  dark  water.  There 
was  still  singing  and  shouting  and  laughter  and  the 
twanging  of  stringed  instruments,  but  it  was  all 
softened  by  the  distance  and  the  mellow  twilight  glow, 
and  melted  sweetly  into  the  far  away  as  the  boats 
threaded  the  windings  of  the  river. 

Roger  wanted  solitude  then.  He  made  a  wide  detour, 
which  led  him  past  the  great  iron  gates  which  opened 
into  the  park  of  the  Chateau  de  Beaumanoir.  He 
had  often  caught  glimpses  in  his  walk  about  St.  Ger- 
mains,  in  the  fortnight  he  had  been  there,  of  this  chateau, 
—  a  stately  place,  with  three  marble  terraces.  He  had 
never  accepted  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  pressing  invita- 
tions to  visit  her;  he  knew  not  exactly  why,  except 

106 


The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

that,  cast  as  he  was,  fresh  from  prison  and  loneliness, 
into  the  seething  caldron  of  St.  Germains  as  it  was 
then,  with  its  thousands  of  exiles,  English,  Scotch,  and 
Irish,  he  had  scarcely  got  his  bearings.  Only  the 
night  before,  the  thought  had  entered  his  mind  that 
he  would  not  go  to  the  chateau  Beaumanoir  at  all,  so 
strong  a  distaste  had  he  taken  for  this  unknown 
Princess  Michelle.  But  now  —  ah,  how  Fate  deals  in 
mountebank  tricks !  —  he  would  go  anywhere  on  earth 
and  beyond  to  see  those  soft  eyes  once  more,  and  to 
hear  that  delicious  voice. 

When  he  reached  the  town,  at  nightfall,  he  found  the 
revelry  still  in  full  blast,  and  his  mood  having  changed, 
he  suddenly  felt  a  passionate  desire  for  movement, 
gayety,  action.  He  saw  a  merry  crowd  dancing  in 
the  public  square  before  the  chateau,  and  took  several 
flings  with  shop-keepers'  daughters  and  farriers'  wives, 
handsome  jades  in  their  holiday  clothes.  Nor  was 
Roger  Egremont  the  only  gentleman  who  so  amused 
himself;  the  grave  Berwick,  the  Pike,  was  figuring 
away  in  the  same  rigadoon  with  Roger,  and  winked 
solemnly  at  him  when  they  changed  partners.  Roger's 
was  a  milliner's  apprentice,  and  Berwick's  was  the 
buxom  laundress  who  did  his  linen  for  him.  They 
drank  freely  of  the  cheap  wines  sold  in  the  booths,  and 
ate  pat^s  of  the  itinerant  vendor,  whose  stand  was 
lighted  by  a  single  candle.  When  the  last  echo  of 
merriment  had  died  away  Berwick  and  Roger  repaired 
to  the  inn  of  Michot,  when  the  evening  was  just  begin- 
ing,  at  midnight.  In  the  great  common  room  was  a 
roystering  crowd  of  English,  Scotch,  and  Irish  gentle- 
men, carousing  hugely,  and  giving  much  scandal  to  the 
sober  French  servants,  who  served  them  endless  jorums 
of  punch  and  apple-toddy.     Even  Madame  Michot,  who 

107 


The  House  of  Egremont 

was  used  to  it,  wondered  at  the  amount  of  brandy  and 
strong  drinks  consumed  by  her  patrons.  Captain  Ogilvie, 
the  Irish  gentleman  who  made  poetry,  was  there  with  a 
beautiful  new  song  on  their  exile,  which  he  had  just 
composed.     Every  verse  ended  with  the  refrain,  — 

"  But  I  shall  return  no  more,  my  dear, 
I  shall  return  no  more." 

There  was  much  singing  of  this,  and  some  tears  were 
shed  by  gentlemen  who  had  had  too  much  punch  and 
wanted  more.  Dicky  Egremont  was  there  of  course, 
and  led  the  singing  and  fiddling.  Roger  did  his  share 
of  drinking  as  well  as  singing,  but  remained  obstinately 
and  perfectly  sober,  —  a  bad  sign ;  for  neither  drink 
nor  any  other  deviltry  could  drive  away  the  picture  of 
Michelle's  face  as  she  looked  at  him,  smiling  and  inter- 
ested, in  his  sleep  in  the  green  meadow.  And  when  the 
sun  was  tipping  the  church  spires  with  gold,  and  Roger 
tumbled  into  bed,  hoping  in  sleep  to  forget  that  haunt- 
ing vision,  he  only  passed  into  a  world  of  dreams  where 
Michelle  was  ever  before  him. 

It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  had  scarcely  slept  half  an 
hour,  although  in  truth  it  was  nearly  noon,  when  he 
was  waked  by  seeing  Dicky,  with  a  little  portmanteau 
in  his  hand,  standing  by  the  bed. 

"  Roger,"  said  Dicky,  "  I  am  going  back  to  the  sem- 
inary at  Clermont  to-day.  My  eyes  are  not  yet  cured, 
but  I  know  I  am  better  off  there  than  here,  where  I 
am  perpetually  singing  and  fiddling.  'T  is  no  life  for  a 
man  to  lead,  and  I  mean  to  quit  it." 

Roger  blinked  his  eyes,  heavy  with  sleep,  and  burst 
out  laughing.  Dicky  was  the  same  Dicky ;  it  was  the 
way  at  Egremont,  —  a  pious  morning  always  succeeded 
a  rollicking  night. 

108 


The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

"  Very  well,  my  lad,"  said  he.  "  I  shall  miss  thee  ; 
there  is  no  one  could  miss  thee  more.  But  if  you  are 
better  off  leading  a  stricter  life,  I  will  not  say  one 
word  to  hold  you  back.  At  least  wait  until  I  am 
dressed,  and  can  go  a  part  of  the  way  with  you." 

Roger  dressed  quickly,  and,  Dicky  having  already 
settled  with  Madame  Michot,  the  two  kinsmen  set  out 
toward  Clermont.  The  town  of  St.  Germains  and  the 
forest  too  were  in  dishabille  after  the  orgy  they  had 
passed  through;  everything  had  a  more  or  less  day- 
after-the-ball  air. 

As  the  two  Egremonts  walked  along,  Roger  was  not 
in  the  least  distrait,  nor  did  he  love  Dicky  one  whit 
the  less ;  but  the  whole  world,  including  himself,  had 
changed  since  the  same  hour  the  day  before.  He  had 
not,  at  noon  yesterday,  met  Michelle.  They  parted  on 
the  farther  edge  of  the  forest,  Dicky  saying,  — 

"  Roger,  if  I  could  but  go  back  to  Egremont  a  priest, 
and  live  in  my  grandfather's  cottage,  and  minister  to 
the  poor  people  in  the  village,  and  see  you  master  of 
your  own,  if  even  for  a  single  year,  I  would  cheerfully 
go  to  gaol,  and  even  to  the  gallows." 

"  You  shall  go  to  neither,"  cried  Roger,  warmly,  "  but 
one  day,  when  the  King  returns,  we  shall  go  back  in 
honor,  and  there  will  be  no  gaol  for  either  of  us,  and  no 
gallows  for  you." 

Then  they  parted,  and  Dicky  trudged  merrily  onward 
toward  Clermont.  He  had  no  money  to  ride  in  the  post- 
wagon  nor  would  he  take  it  from  Roger  —  who,  after 
buying  himself  some  decent  clothes,  had  ten  pounds  left 
of  the  fifty  which  William  of  Orange  had  given  him  in 
lieu  of  Egremont. 

Roger  trudged  back,  not  merrily,  to  St.  Germains. 
He  thought,  as  he  traversed  the  road  he  had  so  lately 

109 


The  House  of  Egremont 

trod  with  Dicky,  how  essentially  manly  and  upright  was 
the  boy's  character ;  for  Roger  still  thought  him,  al- 
though all  of  twenty-two,  a  boy.  And  Dicky  had  in 
him,  strongly,  the  spirit  of  self-sacrifice.  Roger  could 
not  but  note  it  in  little  things  concerning  their  joint 
occupancy  of  Madame  Michot's  attic.  Dicky  quietly 
and  silently  gave  Roger  the  best  bed,  the  best  of  every- 
thing; rose  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  without 
disturbing  the  sleeping  Roger ;  looked  after  his  comfort 
as  tenderly  as  a  woman,  and  offered  what  little  money 
he  had. 

"  Honest  Dicky,"  thought  Roger,  "  when  I  come 
into  my  own  I  will  repay  thee  well." 

But  though  he  had  spoken  so  confidently  of  coming 
into  his  own,  he  was  by  no  means  as  sure  of  it  when  he 
had  arrived  at  St,  Germains  as  when  he  was  shut  up  in 
Newgate.  The  thought  that,  after  all,  he  might  not 
come  into  his  own,  nor  might  the  King  come  into  his 
own,  staggered  him ;  and  he  perceived  with  secret  alarm 
that  the  certainty  he  had  entertained  up  to  the  time  he 
had  left  England  had  declined  into  a  hope  since  he  had 
arrived  in  France.  And  then  that  sweet  vision  of 
Michelle,  which  haunted  him  every  sleeping  and  wak- 
ing hour  since  he  had  met  her,  came  back  with  gentle 
persistence ;  and  he  gave  himself  over  to  a  revery  full 
of  delight  and  of  pain. 

It  was  Roger's  duty,  as  one  of  the  King's  secretaries, 
to  repair  to  him  daily  at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
And  so  four  o'clock  found  him  in  the  King's  closet, 
writing  away  doggedly  at  the  King's  dictation  ;  but  the 
fair  eyes  of  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia  came  between  him 
and  the  written  page,  and  her  voice  so  rang  in  his  ears 
that  he  had  more  than  once  to  ask  the  poor,  patient 
King  to  repeat  his  words.     He  had  done  much  writing 

110 


The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

for  the  King  in  the  two  weeks  he  had  been  at  St.  Ger- 
mains,  being  the  readiest  man  with  his  pen  of  all  those 
about  the  palace ;  and  James  Stuart,  like  all  exiled 
kings,  thought  to  write  himself  back  into  his  kingdom. 
This  endless  writing  was  very  irksome  to  Roger,  al- 
though he  did  his  duty  manfully  in  the  matter.  As  he 
was  essentially  a  man  of  action,  it  was  the  dearest  hope 
of  his  heart  to  find  something  to  do.  He  wanted  to  be 
fighting,  to  be  riding,  to  be  counselling  about  some 
daring  deed.  Instead,  he  found  himself  seated  at  a 
table,  surrounded  with  paper,  ink,  and  quills,  where 
sometimes  from  early  in  the  morning  until  late  in  the 
evening  he  drew  up  memorials  for  the  King,  and  wrote 
prosy  letters,  and  threshed  over  old  straw,  and  con- 
cocted pieces  justijicatives,  and  did  all  the  writing  that 
an  industrious  incapable  like  James  Stuart  could  find 
for  him  to  do.  It  wearied  him  more  on  this  sunny  after- 
noon than  it  had  ever  done  before.  He  even  caught 
himself  regretting  that  he  had  learned  to  write  so  fair  a 
hand  in  Newgate  gaol. 

At  last,  however,  his  tiresome  task  was  over ;  but  it 
was  candle-light  by  that  time,  and  also  time  for  supper 
to  be  served  to  the  gentlemen-at-arms  in  a  mess-room 
adjoining  the  Hall  of  Guards.  Roger,  although  he  had 
met  the  love  of  his  life  only  the  day  before,  and  had 
unconditionally  surrendered  to  her,  was  yet  ravenously 
hungry,  and  thirsty  too.  As  he  passed  out  of  the 
King's  closet  he  met  the  devoted  and  beautiful  young 
Queen  of  this  elderly,  unfortunate  King,  as  she  was 
going  to  the  King.  Roger  bowed  respectfully,  and 
stood  against  the  wall  to  let  her  pass.  Instead  of  go- 
ing on,  she  stopped  and  smiled  sweetly  on  him,  and 
said,  — 

"  Why  do  you  look  so  dejected,  Mr.  Egremont  ?  " 

111 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Roger's  vigilant  eyes  glanced  around  carefully  to  see 
that  he  could  not  be  overheard,  and  then  dropping  on 
his  knee,  as  royalty  was  addressed,  he  said,  — 

"  Madam,  it  is  because  of  the  writing  that  the  King 
gives  me  to  do.  Oh,  Madam,  when  I  came  here,  it  was 
with  the  best  will  in  the  world  to  shed  the  last  drop  of  my 
blood  for  the  King  and  for  your  Majesty  and  the  Prince 
of  Wales ;  I  did  not  think,  though,  I  should  be  called 
upon  to  shed  rivers  of  ink ;  I  would  rather  it  were  the 
blood.  As  for  the  quills  I  have  used  up,  there  will  be 
no  more  geese  in  France  within  a  year  if  this  keeps  up. 
I  hear  that  they  are  almost  exterminated  since  I  came 
here  a  fortnight  ago.  Would  your  Majesty  think  that  1 
should  lament  I  ever  learned  to  write  so  good  a  hand  ? 
I  assure  your  Majesty,  until  the  Prince  of  Orange  threw 
me  into  prison  and  robbed  me  of  my  estate,  I  wrote 
very  ill.  It  is  another  grudge  I  owe  the  Prince  of 
Orange,  learning  to  write  readily." 

"  You  wish  me  to  speak  to  the  King,"  said  the  Queen, 
usually  so  grave,  but  now  laughing. 

"  Madam,  if  you  would  be  so  good,"  replied  Roger ; 
and  the  Queen  passing  on,  he  knew  that  he  should  not 
be  called  upon  to  use  so  many  goose-quills  in  future. 

He  was  not  on  duty  that  night,  but  hunger,  which 
can  exist  along  with  the  most  devouring  passion,  drove 
him  quickly  to  the  mess-room,  where  he  supped  in 
jovial  company.  And  immediately  afterward  he  went 
upstairs  to  the  state  apartments,  where  the  evening 
levee  was  held.  He  had  not  mentioned  Michelle's  name 
to  any  living  human  being,  but  his  ears  were  wide  open 
to  hear  of  her. 

A  few  ladies  and  gentlemen  had  already  assembled, 
and  the  very  next  person  who  entered  the  room  after 
him  was  the  Duchess   de   Beaumanoir,   with   Francois 

112 


The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

trotting  after  her.  Roger,  who  enjoyed  high  favor  with 
the  old  lady,  was  immediately  called  to  her  side. 

"  So  you  recognized  me  at  the  masquerade,  yesterday, 
Mr.  Egremont ;  and  how  did  you  enjoy  the  show  ?  " 

"  Vastly,  madam,"  replied  Roger,  his  heart  palpitating. 
"  I  never  saw  anything  like  it  before." 

"  Of  course  not.  These  French  apes  are  mighty  good 
at  shows  of  all  sorts.     And  when  did  you  get  to  bed? " 

"  Just  as  the  church  clocks  were  striking  six,  madam." 

"  Good.  This  ridiculous  little  mollycoddle  Frangois 
had  said  his  prayers  and  was  in  bed  before  midnight. 
Lord  !  That  ever  I  should  be  afflicted  with  such  a  man 
in  my  family !  " 

"Madam,"  said  poor  Francois,  with  a  feeble  grin, 
"  I  was  the  worse  for  liquor  yesterday —  indeed  I  was !  " 

"  No  doubt,"  scoffed  the  old  Duchess ;  "  a  bottle  of 
cowslip  wine  would  put  you  in  bed  for  a  week.  Now, 
Mr.  Egremont,  I  am  giving  a  rout  to-morrow  night,  and 
you  must  come.  Have  you  no  curiosity  to  meet  my 
niece,  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia?" 

"  Madam,  I  have  the  greatest  curiosity  to  meet 
Mademoiselle  d'Orantia,"  Rogers  replied,  with  all  the 
sincerity  in  the  world,  bowing  with  his  hand  on  his 
heart,  "and  I  accept  with  the  utmost  gratitude  your 
invitation." 

"  My  niece  was  the  only  living  human  being  in  all 
these  parts  who  was  not  at  the  masquerade.  She  re- 
mained at  home,  reading  and  writing,  and  then  went  to 
the  meadows  in  the  afternoon  —  and  came  back  smiling, 
and  said  she  had  had  an  adventure.  But  she  would  not 
say  what  it  was." 

So  Michelle  and  he  had  a  secret  between  them. 
Roger  was  suddenly  made  happy  by  the  thought 

All  that  evening  and  the  next  day  he  was  in  a  dream. 
8  113 


The  House  of  Egremont 

A  letter-bag  from  England  had  arrived,  and  in  spite  of 
his  promise  of  release  from  so  much  writing,  he,  with 
three  other  secretaries,  worked  hard  from  early  in  the 
morning  until  sunset.  And  then  Roger,  more  wearied 
with  his  day  of  writing  than  if  he  had  walked  or  ridden 
a  hundred  miles,  went  back  to  the  inn  of  Michot.  He 
ate  his  supper  in  the  common  room,  and  then  went  to 
his  attic  under  the  eaves,  and  shaved  and  dressed  him- 
self carefully,  having  long  been  used  to  do  without  a 
servant.  He  wore  his  own  hair,  unpowdered,  partly 
from  vanity  in  his  long  and  thickly  curling  chestnut 
locks,  and  partly  from  the  want  of  a  man-servant.  His 
one  suit  was  a  gray  and  silver,  bought  in  Paris,  and  his 
sword  was  the  one  given  him  by  Berwick.  His  figure 
and  air  set  off  his  dress,  and  he  was  not  unmindful  of 
his  looks.  He  was  wondering  ruefuUj'^  how  he  should 
get  to  the  chateau,  when  a  message  came  up  that  the 
Duke  of  Berwick  awaited  him  in  a  coach.  Roger  went 
down,  and  stepped  into  the  coach.  Berwick  was  dressed 
with  an  elegant  simplicity  which  nobly  became  him, 
and,  like  Roger,  wore  his  own  hair. 

"I  dare  not  present  myself  to  the  Duchess  without 
you,"  he  said  laughing,  as  they  rolled  along  the  high- 
road toward  the  chateau.  "  The  old  lady  does  you  the 
honor  to  class  you  with  King  Charles's  men ;  and  though 
I  think  she  overrates  you  in  that  respect,  she  is  mon- 
strous anxious  for  your  company,  to  improve  Francois, 
so  she  told  me.  And  then,  you  will  have  the  chance  of 
meeting  that  enchanting  Princess  d'Orantia." 

"  Is  she  so  beautiful  ?  "  asked  Roger,  innocently. 

"No,  she  is  far  more,  she  is  enchanting.  Some 
women  are  born  for  large  destinies,  and  Mademoiselle 
d'Orantia  is  one  of  them.  The  King  of  France  is  a 
good  judge  of  men  and  women,  and  it  is  known  that 

114 


The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

his  Majesty  has  said  more  than  once  that  he  may  make 
a  great  destiny  for  Mademoiselle,  for  she  can  marry  into 
any  royal  house  in  Europe,  by  virtue  of  her  birth.  It  is 
thought  that  the  King  means  to  play  her  as  a  winning 
card  with  one  of  the  Rhine  principalities,  to  take  it  from 
the  League ;  so  this  poor,  dowerless  girl,  may  yet  walk 
next  the  Queen." 

"  And  how  does  Mademoiselle  take  it  ?  "  asked  Roger, 
in  a  cool  voice,  as  if  not  much  interested  in  what 
Berwick  was  telling  him. 

"Rapturously.  She  adores  her  country,  and  is 
readier  to  be  sacrificed  than  was  Jephthah's  daughter. 
Unluckily,  she  wishes  to  love  as  well  as  to  reign,  and, 
as  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  says  truly,  the  woman  who  is 
haled  this  way  by  love,  and  the  other  way  by  ambition, 
is  marked  for  disaster.  The  Princess  Michelle  wishes 
all  sorts  of  incompatible  things, — to  serve,  as  well  as  to 
love  and  to  reign,  to  search  both  heaven  and  hell ;  and 
Fate,  I  fear,  will  oblige  her  in  the  matter." 

They  were  now  at  the  gates  of  the  chateau,  a  pile  of 
grayish  stone,  with  three  terraces  falling  in  front,  and 
many  stiff  shrubberies  and  formal  flower-beds  about  it. 
Beyond  these  artificialities  was  a  small  but  beautiful 
park,  left  in  its  wild  loveliness,  very  much  like  an  Eng- 
lish park,  for  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  was  bound  to 
have  something  English  in  her  surroundings.  The 
place  lay  to  the  left  of  the  town  and  forest,  on  one  of 
those  natural  plateaus  which  make  the  neighborhood  of 
St.  Germains  so  charming.  It  was  much  lighted  up, 
and  many  liveried  servants  held  flambeaux  to  assist  the 
guests  in  alighting  from  their  coaches.  Berwick  and 
Roger,  entering,  were  ushered  into  a  fine  saloon  on  the 
first  floor,  at  the  top  of  which  sat  Madame  de  Beau- 
manoir, in  a  kind  of  state,  for  no  one  was  behind  her  in 

115 


The  House  of  Egremont 

the  assumption  of  rank  on  occasions.  And  standing 
near  was  Michelle.  She  bent  her  black  eyes,  under  her 
delicate,  straight,  black  brows,  upon  Roger,  and  smiled 
upon  him  without  the  least  confusion ;  and  he  bowed  to 
the  ground,  and  felt  within  his  breast  the  sad  convic- 
tion that  this  woman,  so  far  removed  from  him,  was  the 
woman  he  loved. 

She  said  to  him  at  once,  — 

"  I  have  not  forgot  the  favor  you  did  me  in  the 
meadow." 

"  You  mean,  madam,  the  favor  you  did  me,"  replied 
Roger.  "  I  have  been  to  that  meadow  many  times  before, 
but  it  seems  to  me  as  if  1  never  truly  saw  it  until  the 
day  before  yesterday. " 

"  I  like  the  meadow  very  much  when  we  begin  to 
make  hay  in  it,"  replied  Michelle,  smiling.  "  You  must 
know  that  one  merit  of  this  place  is,  we  have  very  simple 
pleasures,  and  one  of  them  is  to  play  at  hay  making, 
and  to  have  a  rivalry  in  making  hay-cocks.  I  believe 
except  the  Duke  of  Berwick,  I  can  make  the  handsomest 
hay-cock  in  France.     I  like  my  pleasures  out-of-doors." 

"  So  do  I,"  cried  Roger.  "  I  think  I  scarcely  spent 
a  waking  hour  indoors,  once  in  the  week,  until  I  was 
sent  to  prison  by  the  Prince  of  Orange." 

"  Then,  if  you  stayed  not  indoors  at  all,  how  came 
you  by  your  education,"  asked  the  Princess,  aptly:  "  for 
I  hear  you  are  so  good  a  scholar  that  the  King  of  Eng- 
land has  taken  you  among  his  secretaries." 

"  I  fear  I  did  not  much  apply  myself  until  I  was  a 
prisoner  in  Newgate  gaol,"  replied  Roger,  blushing 
very  much. 

They  were  standing  close  by  an  open  window,  and  in 
spite  of  the  mellow  light  of  wax  candles,  the  young 
moon  shone  in  softly  upon  them. 

116 


The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

"  After  all,"  said  Michelle,  "  one  can  only  live  in  the 
open.  I  often  wish  to  know  how  it  feels  to  sleep  in  the 
woods  and  fields,  to  rise  and  mount  at  dawn,  on  a  good 
horse,  with  arms  by  my  side,  and  all  the  work  I  had  to 
do  that  day  to  be  done  under  God's  sun.  In  such  a 
life  I  could  live  happy,  and  die  with  a  quiet  and  joyful 
mind." 

"  I  know  what  it  is  to  sleep  at  the  sign  of  the  Shining 
Stars,"  said  Roger.  "  I  slept  three  nights,  wrapped  in 
my  cloak,  on  the  ground,  when  I  was  taken  from  New- 
gate. And  though  two  of  the  nights  I  was  blindfolded, 
I  think  I  never  slept  more  sweetly.  The  last  night 
't  was  not  so  easy,  for  from  where  I  lay  I  could  see  my 
home,  in  which  a  bastard  and  a  villain  lived  and 
throve." 

Roger  checked  himself.  "  I  forgot,"  he  said ;  "  I  did 
not  mean  to  take  my  injuries  to  walk,  as  our  French 
friends  say ;  I  only  meant  to  say  how  well  I  loved  the 
out-of-doors.  You  look  too  young,  and  too  fair  and 
slim  for  that  life." 

"  But  I  am  not,"  replied  Michelle.  She  was  in  truth, 
very  young  and  slight,  but  Roger  saw,  in  the  depths  of 
her  eyes,  a  gleam  of  adventure. 

"  Perhaps  because  I  am  half  English,  I  like  the  woods 
and  fields  better  than  houses.  When  we  make  journeys 
I  ride  a-horseback  with  Francois  to  take  care  of  me,  and 
my  footboy  mounted.  Poor  Francois  would  often  stop 
and  rest,  but  I  like  to  gallop  on  under  the  stars,  and 
follow  the  road  by  night,  and  wonder  what  will  come  of 
it.  When  the  King  goes  back  to  England  1  want  to 
ride  with  him  and  see  the  people,  some  shouting  and 
rejoicing,  and  some  scowling  at  him,  with  murder  in 
their  hearts.  And  if  the  latter,  I  would  go  up  to  them, 
and   plead  so  with  them  that  they  would  be   throw- 

117 


The  House  of  Egremont 

ing  up  their  hats  for  King  James  before  the  day  was 
out." 

"  And  may  it  come  to  pass  that  I  ride  in  the  same 
rank  with  you,"  said  Roger,  bowing  low  and  smiling ; 
but  he  scowled  when  she  continued,  somewhat 
unkindly,  — 

"  The  men  at  St.  Germains  are  always  talking ;  why 
are  they  not  acting  ?  They  are  very  brave  over  their 
cups,  you  hear  their  songs  denouncing  the  Prince  of 
Orange  resounding  through  half  the  night,  but  they  will 
never  be  able  to  sing  that  usurper  out  of  England ;  you 
will  have  to  drub  him  out  if  ever  you  get  him  out  at  all." 

"  Madam,"  said  Roger,  with  the  extreme  politeness 
with  which  he  always  cloaked  his  anger  toward  women, 
—  for  love  does  not  preclude  anger  by  any  means,  and 
is  rather  its  concomitant,  —  "  you  forget  that  I  am  one 
of  those  men  at  St.  Germains  whom  you  revile." 

The  Princess  blushed,  and  said  in  a  voice  that  could 
have  won  forgiveness  from  an  ogre,  — 

"Pray  forgive  me,  but  like  you  I  am  bold  of  speech;" 
and  then  they  both  laughed,  and  a  glance  flashed  be- 
tween them,  —  they  remembered  that  first  meeting  in 
the  meadow. 

So  strong  was  the  spell  which  Michelle  cast  over  him 
-iiat  he  would  not  willingly  have  left  her  side,  but  he 
was  forced  to  remember  his  manners  by  her  leaving 
him.  And  then  the  old  Duchess  called  him,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  tell,  in  a  loud  voice,  a  very  scandalous  esca- 
pade in  which  his  father  had  been  engaged  before  Lady 
Castlemaine  had  driven  him  from  court.  And  Roger, 
who  had  a  delicate  and  sensitive  pride,  was  forced  to 
listen  coolly  and  laugh,  much  against  his  will.  On  the 
whole,  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  inflicted  quite  as  much 
pain  on  her  friends  as  on  her  enemies. 

118 


The  Easter  Tuesday  Masquerade 

There  were  cards,  and  Roger  found  himself  placed  at 
a  quadrille  table  with  the  Princess.  He  watched  her 
narrowly,  for  although  he  was  used  to  seeing  ladies  of 
great  condition  gamble  furiously,  he  had  an  invincible 
prejudice  to  it,  and  would  have  mortally  hated  to  see 
the  gambler's  thirst  and  hunger  and  greed  in  Michelle's 
lovely  eyes.  But  he  saw  instead  a  cool  indifference, 
combined  with  no  inconsiderable  skill;  and  when  she 
gathered  up  her  stakes  she  carelessly  left  a  part  of  them 
on  the  table.  It  was  a  very  merry  company,  and  Roger 
Egremont,  being  naturally  of  a  free  and  jovial  nature, 
felt  the  intoxication  which  comes  with  good  company 
and  good  wine.  Nevertheless,  after  saying  good-night, 
he  was  in  no  mood  for  society  on  his  homeward  way,  and 
asked  to  be  excused  from  returning  with  Berwick  in  the 
coach.  He  walked  back  through  the  still  and  deserted 
fields,  after  midnight,  going  a  little  out  of  his  way  to 
stand  on  the  same  spot  where  he  had  met  Michelle,  and 
where  his  heart  had  beaten  the  long  roll  at  the  first 
glance  from  her  dark  eyes.  The  April  moon  was  full, 
and  he  saw  the  place  plainly,  in  the  black  and  white  of 
a  radiant  night. 

He  continued  upon  his  way,  thinking  somewhat 
bitterly  of  Michelle's  remark,  that  the  Jacobites  could 
never  expect  to  sing  William  of  Orange  out  of  England. 
And  sure,  as  he  neared  the  inn  of  Michot,  he  heard 
a  rattling  chorus  borne  out  into  the  night,  from  the 
company  in  the  common  room. 

"  Each  loyal  subject  fill  his  glass, 
And  keep  the  toast  in  mind,  man ; 
Confusion  to  the  whining  Whigs, 
The  dregs  of  all  mankind,  man. 

"  You  loyal  subjects  —  " 
119 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Roger,  for  once  did  not  join  in  the  chorus,  although 
he  removed  his  hat,  out  of  respect  to  the  sentiments  of 
the  song,  as  he  passed  upward  to  his  attic.  For  his  own 
part,  he  felt  deeply  that  gibe  of  the  Princess  Michelle, 
and  would  have  been  glad  to  go  fighting  the  very  next 
morning. 


120 


CHAPTER  VI 

"YOTJR   LOVER  IS  EVER  IN   A  BAD   WAY  WHEN"  THE 
OTHER   WOMAN   APPEARS." 

THE  May  came  and  waned,  and  so  did  the  early 
and  late  summer,  and  Roger  Egremont's  days  so 
melted  one  into  another  that  the  Sundays  seemed  only 
a  day,  instead  of  a  week,  apart.  In  spite  of  that  kind 
promise  of  the  Queen's  that  he  should  not  be  forever 
driving  a  quill,  there  was  much  writing  to  do.  Roger 
solaced  the  long  hours  he  spent  listening  to  the  droning 
voice  of  the  King  dictating  to  him,  by  the  thought  that 
in  the  autumn  there  would  be  an  invasion  of  Eng- 
land;  and  if  not  in  the  autumn,  in  the  winter;  and 
if  aught  should  prevent  in  the  winter,  certainly  the 
spring  would  see  the  King  at  Whitehall,  and  himself 
at  Egremont.  One  of  the  recompenses  he  promised 
himself  for  his  three  years'  imprisonment,  and  for  his 
present  poverty,  —  living  frugally  on  the  scanty  pay  of 
one  of  the  King's  gentlemen-at-arms,  —  was  that  of 
kicking  his  half-brother  out  of  the  hall  door  of  Egre- 
mont. For  it  was  not  enough  for  this  hot-blooded  and 
very  faulty  Roger  to  dispossess  his  brother  of  a  stolen 
estate ;  he  longed,  with  a  strenuous  longing,  to  feel  his 
hand  on  Hugo's  collar,  and  the  sole  of  his  well-made 
foot  trampling  Hugo's  prostrate  form. 

It  sometimes  came  to  him,  as  he   steadily  covered 
reams  of  paper,  that  William  of  Orange  could  no  more 

121 


The  House  of  Egremont 

be  written  out  of  England  than  he  could  be  sung 
out,  as  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia  had  said.  The  same 
thought  haunted  many  of  the  great  multitude  of  exiles, 
who  waited  and  waited  for  they  knew  not  what.  Ex- 
cept the  King's  secretaries,  never  had  people  as  much 
time  as  these  dwellers  in  a  foreign  land.  Men  must 
be  doing  something,  and  most  of  them  killed  time  in 
either  a  trivial  or  an  evil  way.  Roger  and  Berwick 
spent  a  good  many  hours  taming  a  squirrel  for  the 
little  Prince  of  Wales.  These  two  men,  entertaining 
themselves  with  a  child  and  a  squirrel,  looked  uneasily 
into  each  other's  eyes.     Roger  said  quietly,  — 

"  As  well  be  doing  this  as  anything  else ;  "  to  which 
Berwick  gravely  nodded.  It  was  quite  as  well  as 
spending  long  days,  as  Berwick  often  did,  at  Marly-le- 
Roi,  only  two  miles  away,  where  Louis  le  Grand,  grown 
pious,  held  his  court. 

Roger  too  had  a  sight  of  Marly,  —  going  there  in 
company  with  Berwick,  —  and  was  neither  pleased  nor 
edified  with  what  he  saw  there:  a  tedious  ceremonial, 
a  King  who  majestically  ate  and  drank,  dressed  and 
undressed  in  public,  and  a  horde  of  place  and  pension 
hunters  after  a  snivelling  hypocrite  of  a  woman,  as 
Roger  truly  esteemed  Madame  de  Maintenon  to  be. 
As,  however,  all  the  people  at  St.  Germains,  from  the 
King  down  to  the  kitchen  scullions,  lived  upon  the 
bounty  of  Louis  le  Grand,  which  was,  it  cannot  be 
denied,  very  nobly  given,  Roger  felt  rather  a  painful 
sense  of  obligation.  The  pay  he  received  monthly  for 
his  services  in  the  corps,  the  little  packet  of  money 
gently  put  into  his  hand  by  King  James,  saying,  "  Mr. 
Egremont,  take  this  little  sum  to  buy  you  a  horse,"  — 
all  —  all  —  came  from  the  coffers  of  the  French  King, 
and  were  wrung  from   those  toiling   peasants   in   the 

122 


Your  Lover  in  a  Bad  Way 

fields  and  vineyards.     The  dead  and  gone  Florentine 
who  said,  — 

"  Salt  is  the  savor  of  another's  bread, 
And  weary  are  the  feet  which  climbeth  up 
The  stairs  of  others." 


might  have  looked  into  the  hearts  of  the  people  at  St. 
Germains  for  his  words. 

Yet  they  bore  their  hard  fortune  bravely  and  meekly, 
as  became  gentlemen.  They  had  some  alleviations; 
there  was  the  hay-making  in  the  harvest  time,  when 
all  the  fine  ladies  and  gentlemen,  whose  hay  in  Eng- 
land other  folks  were  making,  turned  in  and  made  the 
King's  hay  for  him.  Roger  Egremont  had  two  great 
consolations,  —  the  friendship  of  Berwick,  and  the  pos- 
session of  the  horse  which  poor  James  Stuart  had 
scraped  up  the  money  to  give  him.  The  horse  was 
a  beast  of  considerable  merit,  and  named  Merrylegs, 
after  his  worthy  predecessor ;  for  Roger  Egremont  had 
in  him  a  deep  vein  of  sentiment,  and  just  as  he  every 
night  put  under  his  pillow  his  little  bag  of  earth  from 
Egremont,  so  he  swore  he  would  ever  have  a  horse 
named  Merrylegs,  in  honor  of  the  faithful  creature 
given  him  by  Diccon  the  ploughman. 

The  friendship  of  Berwick  he  reckoned  to  be  the 
greatest  good  fortune  of  his  life.  There  was  a  sort  of 
manly  perfection  in  Berwick;  he  was,  in  every  bone 
and  fibre,  a  man  and  a  gentleman,  just,  merciful,  nobly 
forgetful  of  injuries,  and  showing  forth  even  then  that 
great  and  robust  genius  which  afterward  ranked  him 
as  great  in  war  as  his  uncle  John,  Duke  of  Marlborough, 
and  infinitely  greater  in  all  that  makes  a  man.  Well 
might  Berwick  be  called  "  the  great,  tall  devil  of  an 
Englishman  who  must  have  everything  his  own  way," 

123 


The  House  of  Egremont 

as  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  had  said.  Berwick's  way 
was  commonly  superior  to  any  body  else's  way.  He 
was  not  only  the  right  hand  of  the  King,  but  of  the 
gentle,  courageous,  and  sad-faced  Queen.  And  nothing 
was  prettier  than  the  sight  of  Berwick  with  his  little 
half-brother,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  —  the  tall,  grave  elder 
brother  walking  in  the  gardens  and  on  the  terrace  with 
the  little  Prince's  hand  in  his,  listening  seriously  to 
the  child's  chatter,  carrying  him  when  tired  and  sleepy, 
and  always  his  favorite  playfellow.  Roger  could  find 
but  one  fault  in  Berwick,  —  that  strange  insensibility 
to  the  stain  upon  his  birth,  which  was  the  more  singular 
in  a  man  of  the  nicest  and  most  delicate  honor;  an 
insensibility  which  Monsieur  le  due  de  St.  Simon  re- 
marks upon  in  those  pungent  memoirs  which  it  was 
known  he  was  engaged  in  writing;  and  which  was 
always  a  subject  of  amazed  comment.  Roger  hated 
bastards  so  that  he  never  quite  understood  or  forgave 
Berwick  this  idiosyncrasy ;  but,  apart  from  that,  he 
loved  Berwick  with  a  manly  and  noble  love. 

Among  the  few  letters  to  England  which  Roger 
wrote  in  his  own  proper  person,  was  a  long  and  grate- 
ful one  to  Bess  Lukens,  describing  all  his  adventures 
after  being  taken  from  Newgate,  and  all  which  had 
befallen  him  at  St.  Germains,  except  the  most  im- 
portant of  all,  —  that  he  had  fallen  deeply  and  madly 
in  love  with  a  lady  as  far  above  him  as  he  was  above 
poor  Bess.  He  had  not  once  seen  Michelle  since  that 
night  at  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's,  and,  not  daring  to 
ask  what  had  become  of  her,  was  at  last  enlightened  on 
that  point  by  Madame  de  Beaumanoir. 

"  Gone  to  the  convent  of  the  Scotch  Benedictines  in 
Paris  —  and  for  what,  in  the  name  of  God,  think  you  ? 
To  study  the  German  language !     She  could  have  had 

124 


Your  Lover  in  a  Bad  Way 

a  master  here,  but  she  says  she  canDot  be  as  studious 
here  as  she  would  wish,  and  she  likes  the  quiet  and 
retirement  of  the  convent,  where  she  lives  as  sedately 
as  any  nun.  And  she  a  beautiful  young  woman!  I 
warrant  I  spent  not  my  youth  that  way.  She  is 
greedy  of  knowledge,  and,  hoping  and  longing  as  she 
does  to  play  a  great  part,  she  wants  to  know  all  about 
everything." 

"  And  when  does  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia  return  to 
St  Germains  ?  "  Roger  Egremont  ventured  to  ask,  add- 
ing a  gruesome  joke,  —  "I  hope  before  we  all  depart  for 
England." 

"Surely.  You  need  not  be  packing  your  portman- 
teau yet  awhile,  Mr.  Egremont.  Well,  my  niece  will 
come  back  in  time  for  the  hay-making  in  August, 
for  that  is  one  of  the  few  amusements  my  lady  conde- 
scends to,  —  that,  and  taking  long  rides  a-horseback  with 
nobody  but  Frangois  for  an  escort." 

After  this,  Roger  watched  the  hay-fields  with  a  learned 
and  critical  eye,  knowing,  as  he  did,  all  the  lore  of 
growing  crops.  And  on  a  fair  day  in  August  it  was 
given  forth  that  on  the  next  day  all  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  would  assemble  at  noon  to  make  the  King's 
hay  for  him. 

Be  sure  that  Roger  Egremont  was  in  the  meadow 
long  before  the  procession  of  hay-makers  started  from 
the  old  palace,  and  walked  the  length  of  the  terrace 
to  the  low-lying  fields.  It  was  a  glorious  midsummer 
day,  and  never  were  the  prospects  of  King  James  better 
in  the  way  of  haying.  The  hay-makers,  bearing  the 
proudest  names  of  England,  Scotland,  Ireland,  and 
France,  were  dressed  as  peasants,  but  their  costumes 
were  made  of  silken  stuffs  such  as  no  peasant  ever  wore. 
The  dress  of  the  exiles,  both  ladies  and  gentlemen,  was 

125 


The  House  of  Egremont 

a  little  shabby;  their  old  brocades  and  laces  brought 
from  England  were  showing  signs  of  wear  and  tear. 
They  all  carried  gilded  hay-forks,  and  rakes  tied  with 
ribbons,  except  Berwick,  who  did  nothing  by  halves, 
and  was  worth  two  ordinary  day  laborers  in  haying  time ; 
he  carried  an  iron  hay-fork  and  rake,  borrowed  from  a 
gardener. 

Roger  Egremont,  loitering  amid  the  cherry  trees  in 
Madame  Michot's  orchard,  came  out  and  joined  the 
merry  crew  when  it  reached  the  meadow.  He  was 
dressed  as  a  peasant,  in  true  peasant's  clothes,  borrowed 
from  Jacques  Michot,  but  clean  and  well  fitting,  as  be- 
came the  work  of  Madame  Michot's  fingers.  The  shirt, 
open  at  the  neck,  showed  the  white  column  of  his 
throat,  as  fair  as  a  duchess's,  next  the  manly  tan  and 
sunburn  of  his  face.  His  hat,  also  borrowed  from 
Jacques,  was  trimmed  with  the  field  poppies  and  the 
blue  cornflower.  His  eyes  sought  but  one  figure,  and 
there  she  was,  walking  daintily  along,  near  the  end  of 
the  procession,  —  Michelle,  Princess  d'Orantia.  She 
was  dressed  as  a  true  peasant  maiden,  in  a  gown  of 
white  linen,  and  her  hat  was  bound  with  a  wreath  of 
wild  roses. 

Then,  to  the  singing  of  harvest  songs,  they  fell  to 
work.  The  hay  had  been  cut  early  in  the  morning; 
it  was  their  business  to  rake  and  stack  it. 

Roger  Egremont  in  some  way  divined  that  to  work 
well  was  a  way  to  win  Michelle's  favor ;  so  he  fell 
to  work  with  an  intelligent  energy  that  fairly  rivalled 
Berwick's.  And  —  oh,  joy !  —  Michelle  raked  the  hay 
for  him  to  cock  !  She  too  as  far  surpassed  the  ladies  in 
work  as  Roger  surpassed  all  the  men  except  Berwick. 
She  seemed  as  insensible  to  fatigue  as  he  was,  and 
making  hay  in  August  is  no  merry  jest-     Roger  thought 

126 


Your  Lover  in  a  Bad  Way 

he  had  never  seen  so  fascinating  an  employment  for  a 
graceful  woman,  —  raking  and  tossing  the  hay,  lightly, 
yet  with  strength,  every  motion  revealing  the  grace  of 
her  figure,  and  the  beauty  of  her  arms  and  her  dainty 
feet,  and  bringing  a  flush,  deep  yet  delicate,  to  her 
usually  colorless  face.  She  worked  even  when  Roger 
rested,  mercilessly  prodding  him  with  her  hay-fork 
until  he  resumed  his  work,  rated  Berwick  soundly  for 
not  making  his  hay-stack  as  well  as  usual,  and  was 
easily  the  star  of  the  hayfield. 

All  through  the  golden  afternoon  they  worked. 
Roger  tried  in  vain  to  engage  Michelle  in  conversation 
about  other  matters  than  haying,  to  which  she  gave 
her  undivided  attention. 

"Mademoiselle,  you  have  been  much  missed  at  St. 
Germains  since  your  departure  for  Paris,"  he  ventured. 

"  I  should  have  truly  been  missed  had  I  been  absent 
from  the  hay-field  to-day,  for  1  never  saw  the  King's 
hay  more  lazily  attended  to,"  she  replied  tartly.  "  There 
is  more  singing  than  work."  For  just  then  a  song 
was  being  trolled  forth  by  Captain  Ogilvie,  the  Irish 
gentleman   who   composed    such    beautiful    songs,   all 

about  — 

"  Que  ne  suis-je  sans  vie, 
Ou  sans  amour." 

"I  agree  with  you,  mademoiselle,  that  we  sing  too 
much  at  St.  Germains,"  said  Roger,  significantly ;  and 
Michelle's  reply  to  this  was,  — 

"  Pray,  Mr.  Egremont,  attend  to  your  work.  If  you 
do  not  better,  I  shall  ask  the  King  not  to  pay  you  your 
wage ; "  at  which  Roger  went  furiously  to  work, 
declaring  he  could  not  afford  to  lose  so  much. 

At  five  o'clock  the  King  and  Queen  descended  the 
great  flight  of  two  hundred  stone  steps  from  the  terrace, 

127 


The  House  of  Egremont 

and  calling  the  hay-makers  about  them,  proceeded  to 
inspect  their  work  and  give  them  their  dole  of  money,  — 
a  few  pence  each,  which  were  treasured,  as  even  the 
smallest  gifts  of  royalty  are.  So  pleased  were  their 
Majesties  with  the  two  hay-cocks  made  by  Roger  and 
Michelle  —  none  of  the  rest  had  made  more  than  one, 
except  Berwick  —  that  they  were  each  given  an  extra 
coin.  To  this,  great  complaint  was  made  by  Berwick, 
but  the  King  declined  to  pay  him  more. 

And  then,  in  the  purple  twilight,  the  whole  party 
turned  homeward,  walking  along  with  their  forks  and 
rakes  upon  their  shoulders,  singing  chansons  that  floated 
through  the  mellow  air,  fragrant  with  the  new-mown 
hay.  Roger  walked  by  Michelle's  side,  and  sang  with 
her  the  song  that  echoed  sweetly  over  fields  and  woods : 

"  Come,  maids  and  swains,  to  join  our  summer  greeting, 
Youth  and  the  summer  time  are  ever  fleeting. 
Returns  the  summer  time, 
Not  so  youth's  golden  prime ; 
It  Cometh  not  again, 
It  Cometh  not  again !  " 

He  felt  as  in  a  dream ;  and  the  spell  seemed  over 
Michelle  too,  for  when  the  party  separated  he  found 
himself  walking  alone  with  her  in  the  dusk,  along  the 
road,  under  over-arching  trees,  that  led  through  the 
park  to  the  chateau.  They  were  still  singing  softly, 
and  Roger,  without  knowing  why  or  even  when  he 
did  it,  held  out  his  hand,  and  she  laid  hers  within  it, 
and  so,  like  a  shepherd  and  shepherdess,  they  passed 
along  together.  What  sweet  and  peaceful  thoughts, 
like  birds  nesting  in  the  trees  after  the  day's  work,  were 
theirs !  All  the  world  was  left  behind  and  out  of  sight. 
They  were  Corydon  and  Amaryllis  returning  to  their 

128 


Your  Lover  in  a  Bad  Way 

cot  at  eve.  Not  one  whole  day  had  they  ever  spent 
in  each  other's  company,  yet  had  their  souls  rushed 
together  when  first  they  found  themselves  alone. 

They  had  begun  with  acting  a  little  part  of  shepherd 
and  his  shepherdess,  but  now  it  seemed  quite  real ; 
they  had  quite  forgotten  the  every-day  world.  Mi- 
chelle's eyes  were  softly  gleaming.  At  first  they  had 
been  merry  and  full  of  quiet  laughter ;  now  they  smiled 
at  each  other  but  no  longer  laughed.  Presently  they 
came  to  an  open  spot,  before  which  stood  the  great 
gates  and  porter's  lodge  of  the  chateau.  Instinctively 
both  stopped,  and  Roger  raised  Michelle's  hand  to  his 
lips ;  it  seemed  the  simplest  and  most  natural  thing 
in  the  world.  She  stood  still  for  a  while,  and  there 
was  a  pause  —  the  sweetest  pause  —  filled  in  with  the 
faint  and  musical  sounds  of  evening.  They  came  back 
slowly  and  gently  to  the  every-day  world,  but  the 
world  about  them  was  so  beautiful  that  it  seemed  rather 
a  continuation  of  their  dream. 

"  I  shall  not  forget  this  day  as  long  as  I  live,"  said 
Roger. 

Michelle  looked  at  him  a  moment  with  startled  eyes, 
and  then  replied :  "  I  love  these  haying-days.  I  would 
not  miss  one  if  I  could  help  it." 

"  Would  that  every  day  in  summer  were  a  hajring- 
day,"  cried  Roger,  "and  that  you  and  I  — " 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Egremont,"  was  Michelle's  reply. 

Her  figure  melted  away  in  the  darkness  under  the 
trees,  but  Roger's  keen  eyes  saw  her  turn  and  look 
back  at  him,  standing  still  where  she  had  left  him. 

When  she  was  out  of  sight  Roger  turned  homeward, 

through   the    forest.     He   was   glad  to    be    alone,   he 

disdained  any  other  company  after  Michelle's.     He  was 

in  a  kind  of  ecstasy,  and  his  spirit  was  as  light  as  a 

9  129 


The  House  of  Egremont 

laxk  upon  the  wing.  The  forest  was  wrapped  in  the 
silence  of  the  coming  night  and  the  owls  were  begin- 
ning to  hoot.  The  harvest  moon,  a  great,  golden, 
smoky  lamp,  shone  through  the  trees,  but  the  west 
still  held  a  faint  glory  of  crimson  and  green  and  gold. 
The  dusk  of  evening  was  descending  fast,  when  Roger 
noticed,  approaching  him  from  a  side  avenue,  a  person, 
apparently  a  young  and  slender  man,  wrapped  in  a 
black  cloak,  with  a  black  hat  drawn  down  over  the 
eyes.  By  the  time  Roger  had  made  out  the  outlines 
of  this  figure,  they  were  face  to  face ;  and  then  the 
stranger  suddenly  whipped  out  a  sword  from  the  folds 
of  his  cloak,  and  pointed  it  straight  at  Roger.  It  did 
not  take  Roger  a  second  to  seize  the  blade  deftly  in 
his  left  hand  and  wrench  it  away,  while  with  his  right 
he  caught  the  stranger  by  the  throat,  —  a  throat  as  white 
as  milk,  and  from  which  came  gurgling  sounds  of  laugh- 
ter; and  the  hat  falling  off,  he  saw  the  laughing,  upturned 
face  of  Bess  Lukens,  with  her  curly,  reddish  hair  falling 
about  her  shoulders. 

Not  the  appearance  of  Satan  himself  could  have  dis- 
concerted Roger  Egremont  more  at  that  moment  than 
the  sight  of  the  woman  whom  he  justly  called  his  best 
friend.  Like  a  blaze  of  lightning  in  a  murky  night,  he 
saw  in  one  flash  all  the  difficulties  of  the  case,  the  chief- 
est  of  which  would  be  to  make  the  little  world  of  St. 
Germains  believe  in  the  perfect  honesty  of  Bess's  char- 
acter. He  felt  acutely  for  the  shame  the  girl  might 
suffer,  and  when  he  thought  of  Michelle,  he  likewise 
felt  acutely  for  himself.  But  he  was  man  enough  to 
greet  Bess  warmly,  after  the  fii-st  momentary  astonish- 
ment, to  kiss  her  hand  —  ah,  it  was  not  like  kissing 
Michelle's  hand  an  hour  ago !  —  and  to  lie  to  Bess  like 
a  gentleman. 

130 


Your  Lover  in  a  Bad  Way 

"  Dear  Bess,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you ! "  he  cried, 
and  then  he  noticed,  as  she  threw  aside  her  cloak,  that 
she  was  dressed  in  a  man's  riding  suit.  "  And  why  this 
disguise  ?  " 

"  Because,"  said  Bess,  taking  him  by  the  arm  affec- 
tionately, but  not  familiarly,  "I  an't  a  bad-looking 
girl,  and  some  of  the  mounseers  might  have  bothered 
me,  and  1,  not  knowing  the  lingo,  should  n't  have  known 
what  to  say.  So  I  bought  me  this  suit  in  Dover,  and 
also  this  sword;  'tis  nothing  but  a  brass-handled  thing, 
but  it  went  well  with  the  breeches.  And  I  called 
myself  Mr.  Wat  Jones.  I  don't  believe  a  soul  on  the 
vessel  suspected  me.  I  got  here  from  a  place  they 
called  Calais,  by  riding  in  country  wagons  and  walk- 
ing. Nobody  troubled  me,  because  they  thought  I  was 
a  poor  young  gentleman,  driven  out  of  England  by  the 
Whigs,  and  coming  to  my  King  at  St.  Germains,  and 
I  did  n't  have  anything  in  sight  worth  stealing,  —  may- 
be that 's  why  the  mounseers  was  so  honest ;  so  that 's 
how  I  got  here.  I  went  to  a  tavern  where  the  wagon 
stopped  that  I  made  the  last  stage  by,  and  I  determined 
to  hang  about  the  town  until  I  could  get  private  speech 
of  you,  for  I  came  yesterday.  I  held  my  tongue  about 
you,  but  I  kept  both  eyes  open.  This  afternoon  I 
heard  about  the  hay-making  in  the  meadow  —  what 
queer  things  gentlefolks  do  by  way  of  pleasure  !  I 
was  afraid  to  go  near  the  meadow,  for  fear  you  might 
see  me,  and  cry,  '  Oh,  Lord ! '  or  something  of  the  sort ; 
so  I  walked  about  the  place  thej  called  the  terrace,  and 
saw  you  making  hay  in  the  meadow  with  a  young  lady. 
She  was  n't  so  beautiful ;  there  were  others  comelier, 
I  thought.  Then,  when  you  all  started  home,  T  walked 
toward  the  forest,  and  then  into  it ;  and  it  was  grow- 
ing 80  dark  that  I  thought  I  should  have  to  go  back  to 

131 


The  House  of  Egremont 

the  tavern.  And  then  I  saw  you,  and  the  devil  put 
it  into  my  head  to  stick  this  sword  at  you,  but  you 
didn't  flinch;  "  and  Bess  concluded  by  putting  herself 
in  an  impossible  attitude,  and  flourishing  her  sword 
with  a  kind  of  awkward  gracefulness  under  Roger's 
nose. 

And  Roger,  gallantly  fulfilling  his  obligations  as  a 
gentleman,  lied  and  lied  again. 

"  However  you  come,  Bess,  and  whenever,  I  must 
ever  be  glad  to  see  you ; "  and  then  he  told  the  truth 
for  a  change :  "  and  I,  and  all  I  have  —  not  much  of 
the  last  —  are  at  your  disposal." 

Being  a  gentleman,  he  did  not  ask  her  the  question 
that  disquieted  him,  —  what  she  had  come  for,  —  but 
Bess  relieved  him  by  telling  him. 

"  Thank  you,  Roger,  but  I  hope  I  sha'n't  be  any  great 
bother  to  you.  I  have  some  money,  near  forty  pound, 
and  that  will  last  me  till  I  can  get  work.  You  see,  my 
uncle  got  married  again,  the  old  fool,  and  there  was  no 
room  for  me  and  a  step-aunt.  And  I  saw  the  chance 
I  'd  been  longing  and  praying  for  of  getting  away  from 
Newgate  gaol.  I  found  I  had  some  little  money  my 
daddy  had  left  me,  besides  some  I  had  made  myself, 
and  I  went  to  my  uncle  and  made  him  give  it  me  ; 
he  warn't  very  anxious  to  do  it.  His  minx  of  a  new 
wife  was  so  glad  to  get  rid  of  me,  though,  that  neither  of 
'em  asked  me  any  questions  about  where  I  was  going. 
But,  Roger,  /  knew  where  I  was  going.  I  was  going 
somewhere  that  nobody  would  know  I  was  the  niece 
of  old  Lukens,  the  turnkey ;  and  that  place  was  France, 
where  I  knew  there  were  a  plenty  of  English,  and  my 
King  and  my  best  friend  among  'em.  I  left  my  own 
country  with  a  light  heart,  and  if  ever  I  go  back  there, 
't  will  be  as  something  people  won't  point  their  thumbs 

132 


Your  Lover  in  a  Bad  Way 

at  and  say,  '  There  goes  the  turnkey's  girl ! '  And  if 
I  starve  and  freeze  in  this  country,  I  reckon  it  won't 
be  any  worse  than  starving  and  freezing  in  England; 
and  besides,  I  'm  a  Jacobite,  I  am,  I  hate  them  com- 
mon, vulgar  Whigs,  and  all  their  doings ;  and  when 
King  James  goes  back.  Miss  Lukens  will  go  along 
with  him ! " 

Roger  could  not  forbear  laughing  at  Bess's  politics, 
but  the  coolness,  courage,  and  readiness  with  which  she 
had  carried  out  the  plan  she  had  devised  so  cunningly 
gave  him  ease  about  her ;  Bess  Lukens  could  take  care 
of  herself  anywhere.  Excellent,  however,  as  all  her 
motives  were,  there  was  an  uncomfortable  haunting 
feeling  in  Roger's  mind,  that  all  of  those  reasons  would 
have  applied  equally  to  any  country  where  he  could  be 
found. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Roger,  cheerfully,  "  let  us  now 
determine  what  is  best  to  be  done  for  you.  But  first 
put  that  damned  sword  of  yours  out  of  the  way, 
else  you  will  run  me  through  the  body  before  you 
know  it." 

Bess  restored  the  sword  to  its  scabbard,  and  turning 
with  Roger,  they  walked  under  the  trees  at  the  edge 
of  the  forest.  It  was  an  odorous  summer  night,  and 
the  nightingales  were  singing.  Bess  was  very  happy, 
and  Roger  was  wretched  and  uncomfortable  beyond 
description;  but  he  hid  it  manfully. 

"  I  have  other  clothes  than  these,"  said  Bess,  "  and 
working  people  can  find  work  the  world  over ;  so  you 
need  not  be  unhappy  about  me.  Only  let  me  get  decent 
quarters,  and  I  '11  not  be  afraid." 

"  True,  Bess ;  but  you  are  a  girl  of  sense,  and  you 
must  see  that  if  I  would  not  be  your  worst  enemy,  I 
must  be  careful  how  I  befriend  you.     So,  my  girl,  be 

133 


The  House  of  Egremont 

not   doubtful   of   me  if   I  shall  seem   not  to  seek  thy 
company.     This  is  an  evil-thinking  world." 

"  I  know  it,"  Bess  cut  in.  "  You  can't  tell  me  any- 
thing about  this  ugly  old  world.  One  does  n't  see  the 
pretty  side  of  it,  fetched  up  as  I  was.  But  I  think 
'twill  be  brighter  for  me  if  I  can  live  free  from  that 
everlasting,  tormenting,  hideous  ghost,  which  walked 
after  me  in  England,  — '  Red  Bess,  the  turnkey's  niece.' 
I  hope  I  've  left  the  shade  on  t'other  side  of  the  water." 

"  I  hope  so,  too,  Bess.  And  now  go  we  back  to 
your  inn,  and  you  stay  there  the  night,  and  I  will  write 
you  a  letter  in  the  morning." 

They  turned  and  walked  toward  the  town,  Bess 
talking  happily,  and  Roger  acting  his  part  with  per- 
fect success,  but  with  a  sinking  heart.  It  is  ever  an 
evil  time  with  your  lover,  when  the  other  woman 
turns  up. 

Leaving  Bess  at  the  entrance  of  the  little  lane  that 
led  to  her  humble  inn,  Roger  made  great  strides  toward 
Madame  Michot's.     He  met  Berwick  coming  out. 

"  Return  with  me,"  cried  Roger ;  and  taking  him 
up  into  his  large  room  iftider  the  eaves,  Roger  poured 
out  the  whole  story  of  Bess  Lukens. 

Berwick  laughed  a  little.  Roger's  chagrin  was  comi- 
cal ;  and  when  Berwick  asked  him  the  point-blank  ques- 
tion, "  Now,  since  you  say  the  girl  is  good  and  honest 
and  beautiful,  and  yet  you  are  not  in  love  with  her, 
can  you  tell  me  whether  she  is  in  love  with  you,  or 
not?  "  Roger  changed  countenance  so  quickly  that 
Berwick  laughed  aloud. 

"I  swear,"  cried  Roger,  "I  never  knew  —  I  never 
asked.  Hang  it,  man,  the  devil  take  you  and  your 
questions."  Berwick  laughed  more  than  ever  at 
this. 

134 


Your  Lover  in  a  Bad  Way 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  let  us  consult  our  good  friend 
Madame  Michot.  I  am  but  mortal,  and  I  know  not  how 
to  advise  a  man  concerning  a  handsome  girl  whom  he 
has  seen  daily  for  three  years,  who,  he  declares,  has  been 
his  best  friend,  and  he  does  not  know  whether  she  is  in 
love  with  him  or  not !  " 

So  they  put  out  in  search  of  Madame  Michot,  whom 
they  found  in  her  usual  place  on  the  platform,  with  the 
lights  from  the  common  room  shining  through  the  iron 
grille,  and  making  fantastic  shadows  on  the  table  before 
her. 

"  Madam,"  said  Berwick,  in  his  most  seductive  voice, 
and  with  his  finest  bow,  "  we  have  come  to  you  as 
our  help  in  time  of  trouble ; "  and  then,  seating  him- 
self close  to  Madame  Michot,  on  the  right,  while  Roger 
planted  himself  on  the  step  at  her  feet,  these  two  artful 
creatures  told  the  good  woman  all  they  thought  it  ex- 
pedient for  her  to  know  concerning  Red  Bess,  —  not 
mentioning,  as  Roger  had  warned  Berwick,  her  ignoble 
condition  in  England.  And  as  for  the  poor  landlady, 
what  chance  had  she  against  the  machinations  of  two 
of  her  favorite  customers?     She  succumbed  at  once. 

"  There  is  always  much  washing  to  do  at  an  inn,  — 
sheets  and  towels  and  table-cloths,  —  and  I  could 
easily  give  her  three  days'  work  out  of  the  week,"  said 
Madame  Michot,  with  her  finger  on  her  lip.  "  The 
young  person  may  be  above  that,  though." 

"  No,  indeed  she  is  not,"  cried  Roger,  earnestly ; 
"  and  besides,  being  a  girl  of  sense,  she  sees  how  neces- 
sary it  is  that  she  shall  have  respectable  surroundings, 
and  to  be  employed  by  you,  madam  —  with  the  very 
great  respect  which  you  command  —  " 

"  'T  would  establish  the  poor  girl's  character  forever," 
said  Berwick,  decisively,  bringing  the  point  of  his  sword 

135 


The  House  of  Egremont 

down  on  the  floor.  "  Employed  by  Madame  Michot, 
who  could  say  a  word  against  her?" 

"  You  may  send  her  to-morrow  morning,  "  replied 
Madame  Michot,  with  the  greatest  amiability. 

"  What  a  wonderful  woman  is  Madame  Michot ! "  ex- 
claimed Roger.  "But  for  that  one  little  word  ' send  '  I 
should  have  brought  Bess  Lukens  myself,  and  thereby 
set  every  wicked  tongue  in  St.  Germains  wagging. 
But  I  cannot  be  too  careful  not  to  do  that  poor  girl 
the  slightest  harm,  because  she  stood  my  friend  when 
most  I  needed  friends." 

Next  morning,  about  nine  o'clock,  Bess,  having  heard 
from  Roger,  presented  herself  at  the  inn  of  Michot. 
Madame  Michot  was  in  the  orchard  near  which  the 
sparkling  river  made  a  bend,  and  where  the  weekly 
washing  was  taking  place,  when  the  vision  of  a  tall  and 
beautiful  young  woman,  stepping  with  careless  grace 
over  the  grass,  presented  itself  before  her.  It  had  not 
occurred  to  Roger  to  mention  Bess's  sumptuous  beauty, 
and  when  Madame  Michot  saw  it,  a  thrill  of  fear  ran 
up  and  down  the  good  woman's  backbone.  She  had 
not  meant  to  take  the  responsibility  of  a  girl  as  heavily 
handicapped  with  beauty  as  Bess  was.  Why,  Jacques 
might  —  However,  Madame  Michot,  by  an  inspiration, 
glanced  at  Bess's  hands.  They  were  well  shaped,  and 
not  large  for  her  size,  but  they  bore  the  unmistakable 
marks  of  toil.  A  load  was  lifted  from  Madame  Michot's 
shoulders  —  Bess  had  lived  by  honest  toil. 

Bess  proceeded  to  introduce  herself,  and  Madame 
Michot  met  her  advances  kindly,  replying  in  broken 
but  intelligible  English  to  her,  but  understanding  fully 
all  Bess  had  to  say.  And  Bess,  then  and  there  rolling 
up  the  sleeves  of  her  linen  gown,  fell  to  work  with  such 
ferocious  energy  and  despatch  that  Madame  Michot  was 

136 


Your  Lover  in  a  Bad  Way 

astounded  and  delighted.  Twenty-four  hours  made  both 
her  and  Jacques  enthusiastic  supporters  of  Bess  Lukens. 
For  whatever  Bess  turned  her  hand  to,  she  did  so  capa- 
bly and  so  rapidly  that  it  was  a  marvel ;  and  Madame 
Michot,  with  her  shrewd  French  common-sense,  was  the 
very  woman  to  be  impressed  by  Bess's  undeniable  talent 
for  work. 

That  night  Roger  was  detained  at  the  palace.  Many 
despatches  had  come  in  from  England,  and  replies  had 
to  be  sent  at  once  ;  so  he  worked  in  the  King's  closet 
all  day,  and  then,  after  a  hurried  supper  in  the  mess 
room,  returned  and  worked  until  late  in  the  evening. 
It  was  near  midnight  before  he  left  the  palace  and 
crept  up  the  stairs  to  his  room  at  the  inn,  fearful  of 
being  caught  by  the  roysterers  in  the  common  room ; 
and  he  was  in  no  mood  for  roystering.  That  sweet, 
delicate  spell  that  had  been  cast  over  him  by  the 
twilight  walk  with  Michelle  the  night  before  had 
been  rudely  broken.  Since  then  he  had  scarcely  a 
moment  in  which  to  recall  the  sound  of  her  charming 
voice  as  she  spoke,  the  velvety  blackness  of  her  eyes, 
the  sweet,  sweet  thought  that  she  too  had  lapsed  into 
the  dream  which  had  enthralled  him.  He  had  leisure 
now,  and  when  the  merry  crowd  below  had  gone  off 
singing  roundels  in  French  and  English,  Roger,  like  a 
true  lover,  hung  out  of  his  one  great  window,  watching 
the  stars,  and  trying  to  believe  that  he  could  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  roof  under  which  Michelle  slept,  far 
across  the  meadows  and  the  woods.  And  when  he 
laid  himself  upon  his  bed,  it  was  to  live  over  in 
his  dreams  that  enchanted  walk. 

The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens  next  morning  when 
Roger  was  awakened  by  a  far-off  sound  of  singing. 
Down  in  the  orchard,  Bess  Lukens  had  begun  her  day's 

137 


The  House  of  Egremont 

work ;  and  as  she  beat  the  linen,  her  rich,  untrained 
voice  soared  in  a  simple  English  ballad.  Roger  lay  and 
listened,  half  in  pleasure,  half  in  rage,  and  calling  him- 
self a  base,  ungrateful  villain  to  this  girl,  who  had 
befriended  him  in  his  darkest  hour. 

He  rose  and  dressed  quickly,  and  went  down  to  the 
orchard.  There,  under  the  dappled  shade  of  the  cherry 
trees  in  the  bright  morning,  was  Bess  at  work  alone. 
She  had  curtly  dismissed  all  her  assistants,  and  by  that 
time  was  hanging  out  the  linen  upon  the  lines  strung 
between  the  trees.  Madame  Michot,  who  had  come 
to  give  her  some  directions,  was  watching  her  with 
admiration.  Bess  wore  the  usual  dress  of  girls  of  her 
class,  —  a  short  brown  skirt,  a  white  linen  bodice,  with 
the  sleeves  rolled  up,  showing  her  shapely  arms,  and  a 
spotless  white  cap.  Her  reddish  hair  was  plaited  and 
tied  with  a  black  ribbon,  and  little  curls  rested  upon  her 
forehead  and  the  white  nape  of  her  neck. 

The  most  interested  listener  to  her  untutored  singing 
was,  however,  a  little  old  man  quite  unseen  by  any  one, 
at  the  window  of  a  house  whose  garden  was  separated 
from  the  orchard  only  by  a  wall  with  a  door  in  it.  This 
little  old  man,  with  his  nightcap  awry,  and  a  dressing- 
gown  around  his  shoulders,  listened  intently,  drumming 
on  the  stone  window-sill  with  his  fingers  to  mark  time. 

"  Good-morning,  madam,"  cried  Roger,  advancing, 
hat  in  hand,  the  August  sun  shining  on  his  fair,  curling 
hair,  "  and  good-morning,  Bess ;  what  an  excellent 
singer  you  are,  and  ever  were ! " 

"  '  T  is  not  much,  Master  Roger,"  replied  Bess,  who 
had  sense  enough  not  to  call  Roger  familiarly  by  his 
name  in  the  presence  of  others.  She  smiled  and 
colored  with  pleasure,  however,  at  his  praise. 

Madame  Michot  in  her  awkward  English  began  to 

138 


Your  Lover  in  a  Bad  Way 

praise  the  singing  too,  but  finding  it  insufficient,  burst 
into  a  torrent  of  French,  describing  the  wonderful 
capacity  for  work  there  was  in  Bess, 

"  What  is  she  saying  about  me  ?  "  asked  Bess  suspici- 
ously ;  and  while  Roger  was  trying  to  make  the  two  ladies 
intelligible  to  each  other,  the  little  old  gentleman,  who 
had  been  listening  at  the  window  and  had  disappeared, 
was  seen  coming  through  the  garden  door.  He  was  a  be- 
nevolent-looking old  gentleman,  and  evidently  wildly 
excited  about  something.  He  seemed  to  have  jumped 
into  his  clothes  in  such  haste  that  it  was  a  wonder  he 
had  not  got  into  them  inside  out.  His  waistcoat  was 
loose,  though  his  coat  was  buttoned  over  it ;  his  shoes 
were  unbuckled,  and  he  carried  his  peruke  and  his 
garters  in  his  hand,  and  he  had  forgotten  to  remove  his 
nightcap.  Bess  had  paused  for  a  moment  from  hanging 
out  table-cloths  and  napkins,  and  stood  with  one  white 
arm  on  her  hip,  while  with  the  other  she  shaded  her 
eyes  ;  and  the  old  gentleman,  approaching  her,  made  a 
profound  bow. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "you  are  truly  one  of 
heaven's  favorites.  That  glorious  voice  of  yours  is  fit 
for  the  choir  of  angels ;  nay,  more,  —  it  is  worthy  of  the 
King's  Opera." 

"  Tell  him,"  said  Bess,  turning  to  Roger,  "  that  I  don't 
understand  his  lingo." 

Roger  translated  this,  as  follows,  — 

"  Sir,  Mademoiselle  Lukens  desires  me  to  say  to  you 
that  she  highly  appreciates  your  admiration  of  her 
voice,  and  begs  to  explain  that  she  cannot  yet  understand 
or  converse  in  the  French  language," 

With  another  profound  bow,  the  old  gentleman 
said,  — 

"Monsieur,  I  have  the  honor  to  introduce  myself. 

139 


The  House  of  Egremont 

I  am  Monsieur  Mazet,  one  of  the  directors  of  the  King's 
Opera  ;  and  wherever  I  go  —  on  my  little  journeys  for 
pleasure,  or  my  expeditions  for  business,  by  day  or  by 
night  —  I  am  on  the  lookout  for  good  voices.  I  have 
been  an  enraptured  listener  this  morning  to  this  young 
woman's  singing.  And  I  beg  of  you  to  say  to  her  that, 
if  she  wishes  to  study  under  my  direction,  and  is  willing 
to  pay  the  dole  of  labor  which  art  exacts,  I  can  prom- 
ise her  great  success,  great  fame  —  all,  all  that  a  beau- 
tiful voice  can  bring  to  a  beautiful  woman." 

Here  Madame  Michot  interrupted  vigorously.  "  Now, 
Monsieur  Roger,  don't  put  any  such  notions  in  the  girl's 
head.  Don't  I  know  what  becomes  of  poor  girls  who 
go  to  Paris  ?  She  will  rue  it  the  longest  day  she  lives. 
I  have  seen  them  go,  and,  oh,  my  God  I  I  have  seen 
them  return,  —  a  sorry  sight.  So  tell  her,  instead,  that 
she  had  much  better  remain  here,  I  will  give  her  a 
good  home  if  she  will  work  and  behave  herself ;  and  I 
have  little  doubt  that  she  does  both  work  well  and 
behave  well." 

Monsieur  Mazet  heard  this  with  a  sniff  of  scorn.  He 
threw  a  whole  volume  of  expression  in  his  face  as,  with 
a  grimace  indicating  the  utmost  distaste  for  Madame 
Michot,  he  waved  his  long  arms  about.  Madame  Michot, 
on  her  part,  gave  him  a  look  of  contemptuous  pity,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  Poor  creature  ! " 

Monsieur  began  hostilities  by  saying,  — 

"  Madame,  perhaps,  does  not  understand  the  feeling 
for  art  which  —  " 

"No,  I  don't,"  vigorously  replied  Madame  Michot, 
"  but  I  know,  as  I  tell  you,  what  waits  for  a  girl  like 
this,  poor  and  handsome  and  ignorant,  in  Paris, 
and—" 

"  My  position  madam,  as  director  —  " 

140 


Your  Lover  in  a  Bad  Way 

"  My  profession,  sir,  of  keeping  an  inn,  has  taught  me 
to  know  human  nature." 

The  altercation  grew  warmer,  Bess  and  Roger  re- 
maining silent.  At  last,  when  Madame  Michot's  usually- 
placid  voice  rose  to  a  high  key,  and  Monsieur  Mazet 
used  some  ugly  words,  Roger  interfered  politely,  and 
proposed  to  lay  the  two  propositions  before  Bess.  This 
was  agreed  to  by  both  combatants,  upon  condition  that  he 
offered  no  advice.  Bess  listened  gravely  while  he  ex- 
plained to  her  in  English  all  that  Monsieur  Mazet  and 
Madame  Michot  had  been  saying,  and  then  she  replied 
promptly,  — 

"  Would  I  rather  go  to  Paris  and  learn  to  be  a  singer 
in  the  King's  Opera,  or  would  I  rather  stay  here  and 
wash  linen  ?  Why,  Master  Roger,  I  would  rather  go  to 
Paris  ;  and  if  Madame  Michot  or  that  gentleman  thinks  I 
can't  take  care  of  myself,  show  you  them  that  scar  I  left 
on  your  skull." 

"  But  I  would  not  advise  you  to  go  until  you  learn 
something  of  the  French  tongue,"  said  Roger,  pledged 
not  to  advise,  but  eager  to  protect  her. 

"  Right.  I  always  said  you  had  some  brains  under 
your  curly  hair.  Now  say  to  them  that  I  will  stay  here 
and  work  for  a  couple  of  months,  until  I  learn  to  know 
what  people,  are  saying  to  me ;  and  after  that,  if  the 
gentleman  will  come  and  fetch  me,  I  will  go  to  Paris 
and  learn  to  sing  in  the  King's  Opera." 

This  Solomonic  decision  had  the  uncommon  effect  of 
pleasing  both  parties  to  the  controversy. 

Madame  Michot  considered,  if  she  saved  the  brand  for 
two  months  from  the  burning,  she  could  save  it  alto- 
gether ;  while  Monsieur  Mazet  had  no  doubt  whatever 
that  two  months'  experience  of  the  drudgery  of  a  village 
inn  would  secure  his  prize  for  Paris.     Roger,  too,  was 

141 


The  House  of  Egremont 

pleased  with  the  decision,  which  showed  the  strong  good 
sense  that  Bess  usually  displayed  in  practical  affairs. 

Madame  Michot  invited  them  all  to  breakfast  with 
her  and  Jacques  ;  and  they  all  accepted.  The  table  was 
spread  in  the  orchard,  and  the  proud  Roger  Egremont 
enjoyed  very  much  this  meal  with  the  director  of  the 
King's  Opera,  the  landlady  and  her  son,  and  the  turn- 
key's niece.  They  were  a  very  merry  party.  Bess  was 
in  the  highest  spirits ;  here  at  last  was  that  chance,  so 
longed  for,  to  rise  into  a  respectable  sphere  of  life,  —  for 
Bess  did  not  count  the  gaoler's  trade  as  respectable. 
And  singing  was  so  easy !  She  could  not  keep  from 
doing  it  if  she  tried.  She  supposed  there  would  be 
some  hardships,  but  she  knew  the  ugly  face  of  hardship 
too  well  to  be  frightened  at  it,  and  perhaps  Roger  — 
here  Bess  sternly  checked  her  vagrant  imagination. 
The  others  did  not  know,  and  she  earnestly  hoped 
might  never  find  out,  the  story  of  her  childhood  and 
youth ;  but  Roger  knew  it,  and  could  never  forget  it. 

That  day  and  for  some  days  afterward,  there  was  much 
carolling  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  crazy  clavichord 
in  Monsieur  Mazet's  lodgings  ;  for  he  was  to  remain 
some  days  at  St.  Germains,  and  immediately  began 
Bess's  musical  education.  Bess  took  to  music  and  sing- 
ing with  ardor  and  intelligence;  she  had  a  strong 
frame  and  was  never  tired,  although  everybody  within 
hearing,  except  Monsieur  Mazet,  got  a  little  weary 
sometimes  of  her  incessant  trilling.  On  the  third  day, 
after  meeting  with  Monsieur  Mazet,  she  found  an  in- 
strument more  to  her  liking  than  Monsieur  Mazet's 
clavichord.     This  was  Dicky  Egremont's  fiddle. 

On  that  afternoon,  Bess,  who  was  always  provided 
with  knitting,  was  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  orchard, 
her  fingers  flying.     Monsieur  Mazet,  having  thrummed 

142 


Your  Lover  in  a  Bad  Way 

and  strummed  the  whole  morning  on  the  clavichord, 
teaching  his  apt  pupil,  was  taking  a  rest  in  his  lodg- 
ings. Madame  Michot  and  Jacques  were  at  the  inn. 
Madame  Michot  noticed  with  approval  that  Bess 
showed  no  inclination  to  hang  about  the  inn,  but  when 
her  work  was  over  went  off  to  the  orchard,  or  to  the 
little  closet  of  a  room  she  had,  to  spend  her  leisure.  It 
was  not  possible  that  the  presence  of  a  girl  so  handsome, 
and  lately  from  England,  should  not  be  known  to  the 
merry  gentlemen  who  frequented  Madame  Michot's 
common  room ;  and  had  not  Bess  kept  out  of  the  way 
she  could  easily  have  made  herself  a  toast,  and  likewise 
a  subject  of  gossip,  among  those  same  merry  gentlemen. 
But  Bess  had  learned  prudence  in  a  hard  school,  and 
had  learned  it  well,  and,  her  ideas  of  the  chivalry  of  men 
having  been  formed  upon  those  who  dwelt  in  Newgate, 
she  had  by  no  means  a  high  opinion  of  the  sex  in  gen- 
eral. Therefore,  when  she  saw  approaching  her  in  the 
pleasant  August  afternoon  a  young  man  in  the  black  dress 
of  a  seminarian,  she  quickly  determined  that  the  orchard 
would  not  very  long  be  large  enough  for  both.  And 
having  heard  bad  accounts  of  papists  and  papistry  in 
general,  the  fact  that  the  young  man  wore  a  monkish 
dress  set  her  still  more  against  him.  Presently  he  came 
near,  and  bowed  and  smiled  and  blushed,  —  for  Dicky 
Egremont  seemed  always  blushing, —  and  Bess  could 
not  for  the  life  of  her  keep  from  returning  his  friendly 
glance. 

"  'T  is  Mistress  Bess  Lukens  I  have  the  honor  of  ad- 
dressing," said  Dicky  in  his  sweet  and  youthful  voice. 

Bess  rose  and  dropped  a  courtesy,  trying  to  scowl,  but 
failing. 

"  Pray  let  me  introduce  myself.      I  am  Mr.  Richard 
Egremont,  a  cousin  of  Mr.  Roger  Egremont." 

143 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"  Are  you  Dicky  ?  "  cried  Bess,  surprised  out  of  her- 
self, and  then  coloring  at  her  inadvertence. 

"  I  am  Dicky  to  Roger,"  replied  Dicky,  "  and  natu- 
rally you  never  heard  him  speak  of  me  by  any  other 
name.  Know,  Mistress  Bess,  Roger  has  told  me  of  all 
your  goodness  to  him  while  he  was  in  prison,  and  for 
that  reason,  when  I  came  to  the  inn  just  now  and  heard 
you  were  here,  I  ventured  to  come  and  pay  you  my 
respects.  For  all  who  are  good  to  my  cousin,  Roger 
Egremont,  are  friends  of  mine." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  D —  I  mean  Mr.  Egremont.  'T  was 
little  I  could  do  for  Mr.  Roger,  but  I  had  the  best  will 
in  the  world." 

Dicky  had  seated  himself  at  the  other  end  of  the  gar- 
den bench,  and  Bess  had  resumed  her  knitting.  The 
afternoon  sun  sifted  down  upon  her  great  plaits  of 
auburn  hair,  bringing  out  all  the  red  and  gold  in  it,  and 
the  tawny  depths  in  her  brown  eyes.  Dicky  noticed 
what  Madame  Michot  had, — the  evidences  of  hard  work 
on  Bess's  hands,  and  he  thought  he  knew  her  to  be, 
from  Roger's  description,  one  of  the  best  women  in  the 
world. 

"Madame  Michot  told  me,  just  now  in  the  house, 
that  you  had  a  mighty  pretty  voice,  and  would  go  to 
Paris  some  time  before  long,  to  study  for  the  King's 
Opera,"  he  began,  by  way  of  making  acquaintance. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Bess,  her  face  lighting  up  with  pleas- 
ure at  the  mere  mention  of  her  becoming  a  singer.  "  I 
think  I  must  be  the  f ortunatest  poor  girl  that  ever  lived. 
A  kind  gentleman  here,  Mr.  Mazet,  heard  me  singing,  and 
offered  to  teach  me  at  Paris,  and  Mr.  Roger  thinks  it  all 
right  that  I  should  go.  They  all  tell  me  't  will  be  hard 
work,  but  I  can't  think  singing  hard  work ;  't  would 
be  hard  work  for  me  to  keep  from  singing." 


Your  Lover  in  a  Bad  Way 

'«  Yes,"  said  Dicky,  gravely,  "  'T  is  monstrous  hard 
work  for  me  to  keep  from  fiddling.  At  the  seminary 
where  I  am  studying  to  be  a  priest,  I  am  not  allowed  to 
fiddle  all  I  want;  and  my  superiors  are  right.  For 
the  hours  fly  when  I  have  the  bow  in  my  hand,  and  my 
fingers  dancing  upon  the  strings ;  and  often,  when  I 
think  I  have  been  playing  but  a  few  minutes,  'tis  a 
whole  hour." 

For  the  first  time  Bess  found  some  one  who  could 
talk  and  feel  as  she  did  about  music,  and  she  replied 
eagerly,  — 

"  So  't  is  with  me  !     So  't  is  with  me !  " 

"  Only  those  who  love  music  can  understand  it,"  con- 
tinued Dicky,  as  eager  as  Bess.  "'Tis  life  and  light 
and  joy  and  hope  and  solace  —  " 

"  And  meat  and  drink  and  coals,"  responded  the  prac- 
tical Bess. 

And  then  their  talk  drifted  to  Roger.  Every  moment 
Bess  felt  more  and  more  drawn  to  this  frank,  boyish 
Dicky,  and  insensibly  she  adopted  Roger's  attitude  of 
superior  age.  Dicky  was  really  only  a  little  younger 
than  Bess,  but  she  felt  as  if  he  were  born  yesterday,  and 
she  were  as  old  as  the  Pharaohs  by  comparison.  As  for  his 
monkish  religion,  she  looked  on  it  as  she  did  on  Roger's 
—  as  a  departure  from  the  ordinary,  like  children  who 
are  born  with  six  toes  —  singular,  but  harmless.  And 
then  something  inspired  Bess  to  give  Dicky  her  confi- 
dence about  that  black  spectre  of  her  past  —  her  life  in 
Newgate. 

"  Mr.  Di  —  I  mean,  Mr.  Egremont,  I  don't  believe  you 
are  the  man  to  do  an  ill  turn  to  a  poor  girl,  or  a  child,  or 
a  dog,  or  anything  that 's  not  very  strong,"  she  burst  out 
presently,  "  and  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  kindness.  I  hate 
worse  than  pi'sen  the  notion  that  people  should  know 
10  145 


The  House  of  Egremont 

that  —  that  —  I  am  the  niece  of  a  gaoler  and  turnkey. 
'T  was  that  which  chiefly  made  me  seek  my  fortune  in 
France ;  and  will  you  please  to  promise  to  keep  it  to 
yourself  ? — for  I  know  that  Master  Roger  must  have  told 
it  you." 

"  Truly,  I  will  keep  your  secret,  Mistress  Bess.  No 
one  shall  ever  hear  anything  of  you  from  me,  except  that 
you  befriended  Roger  in  prison,  and  nobody  knows  how 
you  did  it." 

"  My  uncle's  calling  was  the  sorest  thing  to  me  in  the 
world,  Mr.  Egremont.  It  sickens  me  to  think  how 
much  I  learned  of  wickedness  in  that  dreadful  prison 
the  seven  years  I  lived  there.  But  knowing  wicked- 
ness only  made  me  hate  it  the  more.  I  swore  I  would 
never  be  as  most  of  the  creatures  were  there,  and  the 
hatred  of  evil,  more  than  the  love  of  good,  has  kept  me 
in  the  straight  path.  Madame  Michot,  and  that  good, 
industrious,  lame  Jacques  do  not  know  about  the  gaol, 
and  I  think  not  the  grand  gentleman,  the  Duke  of  Ber- 
wick, who  helped  Mr.  Roger  to  get  me  in  this  place ; 
but  I  am  not  sure,  —  I  dared  not  ask  Mr.  Roger  if  he 
had  told  him.  You  knew  it,  though,  and  it  takes  a 
great  load  off  my  heart  to  know  you  '11  not  tell  it 
abroad." 

"  Indeed  I  will  not.  And  —  and  —  Mistress  Bess,  I 
have  my  fiddle  within.  Could  we  not  have  some  sweet 
music  together  ?  " 

"Yes,"  cried  Bess,  delighted,  and  Dicky,  running 
toward  the  house,  presently  returned  with  his  fiddle. 
He  tuned  up,  and  Bess  asking  if  he  could  play  "  Green 
Sleeves,"  her  sweet,  strong  voice,  and  the  soft  and 
thrilling  strains  of  the  violin  rose  in  harmony.  The 
summer  sun  was  near  setting,  and  the  shadows  were 
long  in  the  orchard.     The  birds  ceased  their  twittering 

146 


Your  Lover  in  a  Bad  Way 

to  listen  to  the  music,  that  rose,  full  and  strong  and 
rich,  and  melted  away  in  the  darkening  blue  of  the  sky. 
They  both  stood,  Dicky  drawing  his  bow,  slowly  and 
softly,  and  bringing  the  tenderest  melody  forth,  and 
then  quickly  changing  to  the  merriest  laughing,  danc- 
ing measure,  and  Bess,  with  her  heart  in  her  eyes,  her 
glorious  voice  following  and  intertwining  and  melting 
into  the  sweet  strains  of  the  violin.  It  was  as  if  their 
two  souls  met  and  sang  together.  One  song  succeeded 
another,  and  so  absorbed  were  they  that  Bess,  for  once, 
actually  forgot  she  had  work  to  do.  Nor  was  it  possible 
for  the  music  to  remain  unheard  at  the  inn.  Presently 
Bess  realized  that  figures  were  stealing  into  the  orchard, 
from  which  the  afternoon  light  was  fading. 

A  loud  clapping  of  hands  after  Bess  had  sung  "Drink 
to  me  only  with  thine  eyes  "  broke  the  spell.  All  the 
idlers  from  the  inn  had  strolled  out  to  listen.  A  hand- 
some Scotch  gentleman  was  for  singing  with  Bess,  but 
she,  curtly  declining,  curtseyed  and  walked  toward  the 
inn. 

"  An  ungracious  jade,"  said  the  Scotch  gentleman, 
turning  on  his  heel. 

"  The  girl  has  sense,"  muttered  Monsieur  Mazet,  who 
was  listening  and  watching  from  his  window,  over- 
looking the  orchard. 

And  in  that  orchard,  singing  those  simple  English 
songs,  was  made  the  beginning  of  a  friendship  between 
an  Egremont  and  the  turnkey's  niece  that  was  to  last 
until  life  ended. 


147 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN   WHICH  BOGBR  EGKEMONT  MEETS  WITH   BOTH 
GOOD  AND  ILL  FORTUNE 

WHAT  is  reckoned  ill  luck  at  one  time  is  counted 
the  best  of  good  luck  at  another.  Roger  Egre- 
mont,  who  had  fretted  continually  in  his  heart  about 
being  tied  to  the  King's  writing-table,  now  was  secretly 
rejoiced  that  he  had  ample  duty  to  do,  because  of  one 
of  his  fellow-secretaries  falling  ill  just  about  the  time 
of  Bess  Lukens's  arrival  at  St.  Germains.  Therefore 
he  could  see  but  little  of  that  brave  and  honest  crea- 
ture. The  reflection  gave  him  a  strange  sense  of  relief, 
and  also  of  remorse.  In  his  prison  days  he  scarcely 
knew  how  he  should  have  existed  without  her.  And 
now  —  oh,  inconstant  heart  of  man !  —  he  could  do  very 
well  without  poor  Bess.  Never  did  he  falter  in  his 
friendship  to  her,  and  often  congratulated  himself  that 
Bess  saw  no  change  or  shadow  of  turning  in  him.  But 
Bess  had  more  penetration  than  even  Roger  gave  her 
credit  for. 

"  'T  is  what  I  expected,"  she  thought,  sadly.  "  He  is 
good  and  kind  and  thoughtful,  and  I  believe  would 
give  me  his  last  shilling,  or  die  in  my  defence ;  but 
I  am  no  more  necessary  to  him.  The  prison  life  is  an 
unnatural  life  ;  now  he  has  got  back  to  the  open,  free 
life,  and  instead  of  one  companion,  he  has  many.  Well, 
I  ever  wished  him  free,  and  I  will  not  be  so  base  as  to 
grudge  him  his  freedom." 

148 


Roger  Meets  Good  and  111  Fortune 

The  first  month  that  Bess  spent  at  the  inn  of  Michot 
was  by  far  the  hardest  worked  of  her  whole  life.  She 
had  been  used,  in  the  days  at  Newgate  gaol,  to  carry 
water  and  wood  and  other  heavy  burdens,  to  sweep, 
to  wash,  to  dust,  to  bake,  to  brew,  to  go  on  foot 
long  distances,  in  cold,  in  heat,  in  wet,  in  drought,  but 
she  had  never  wrestled  with  learning  a  language.  She 
made  frantic  attempts  to  learn  French  out  of  an  ancient 
grammar  provided  her  by  Monsieur  Mazet,  but  as  she 
was  not  expert  with  printed  words  in  English,  she  was 
still  less  so  in  French,  and  progressed  but  little  in  that 
way.  She  did  make,  however,  considerable  headway 
in  learning  words  and  sentences  from  Madame  Michot 
and  Jacques,  whose  accent  was  so  frightfully  provincial 
that  it  would  have  put  a  Parisian's  teeth  on  edge. 

In  the  middle  of  the  month  Monsieur  Mazet  came 
on  another  visit  to  St.  Germains,  and  went  straight  to 
the  inn.  Bess  ran  to  meet  him,  and  swelling  with 
pride,  greeted  him  with  her  Michot  French,  and  rattled 
out  all  she  knew. 

Poor  Monsieur  Mazet  almost  wept.  "  Oh,  my  God !  " 
he  cried.  "  Such  an  accent  as  that,  to  be  said  and  sung 
before  his  Majesty !  I  shall  be  sent  to  the  Bastille  for  life, 
and  I  shall  deserve  it,  if  I  present  you  at  the  Opera  with 
that  combination  of  alehouse  English  and  road-inn 
French.  No,  no,  no,  mademoiselle,  you  must  speak 
better."  At  which  Bess  grew  sulky,  and  relapsed  into 
English,  and  shortly  after,  meeting  Roger  on  the 
stairs,  she  abused  roundly  the  French  language,  adding : 
"And  Madame  Michot  and  Jacques  and  Papa  Mazet 
are  all  good  to  me,  but  they  are  not  like  English  folk. 
I  think  the  queer  things  they  have  to  eat  in  France 
make  the  people  queer,  —  that 's  my  solemn  belief.  Mas- 
ter Roger.    I  have  not  seen  a  bit  of  what  I  call  butcher's 

149 


The  House  of  Egremont 

meat  since  I  came  to  the  country,"  she  cried.  "  A  ha'- 
p'orth of  beef,  as  dry  as  my  shoe,  and  a  mess  of  net- 
tles and  such  that  they  call  a  salad,  is  what  they  live 
on !  Never  mind ;  when  I  get  to  Paris  /  'II  cook  that 
poor  half -starved  Papa  Mazet  something  fit  for  a  Chris- 
tian to  eat !  " 

Nevertheless  Bess  persevered,  and  in  a  few  weeks 
learned  enough  to  be  glib  and  intelligible  in  conversa- 
tion, although  Papa  Mazet  still  tore  his  hair  at  the 
continuing  vileness  of  her  grammar  and  pronunciation. 
Bess  naturally  felt  great  curiosity  to  know  whether, 
among  the  many  beautiful  and  charming  women  at  St. 
Germains  any  had  won  Roger's  heart.  But  she  had 
no  means  of  satisfying  her  curiosity.  So  she  drudged 
and  sang,  and  picked  up  such  French  as  she  could, 
smiled  when  Roger  sought  her  out,  and  on  the  whole 
took  life  bravely  and  cheerfully,  as  was  her  wont.  The 
time  would  soon  come  when  she  would  go  to  Paris,  to 
study  with  Papa  Mazet,  as  she  had  come  to  call  him. 
She  was  to  live  in  his  house  with  an  ancient  sister  of 
his  ;  and  Bess  shrewdly  suspected  that  Roger  would  be 
more  anxious  to  see  her  when  she  was  some  hours' 
journey  away  than  when  he  could,  if  he  chose,  see  her 
any  hour  in  the  day. 

Dicky  had  returned  to  the  seminary  after  his  holiday 
of  a  day  or  two  was  over,  but  he  came  back  once  again 
for  a  day,  and  voice  and  violin  made  music  together 
in  the  cherry-orchard. 

The  Princess  Michelle,  spending  her  time  reading  and 
writing,  or  riding  far  and  fast  about  the  country  with 
FranQois  for  a  cavalier,  and  seeing  but  little  of  the 
gayeties  of  St.  Germains,  could  not  get  the  thought  of 
the  bold  Englishman,  Mr.  Egremont,  out  of  her  mind. 
Of  course,  she  soon  found  out  all  about  him,  —  trust  a 

150 


Roger  Meets  Good  and  111  Fortune 

woman  for  that,  —  and  by  scarcely  asking  a  question. 
He  seemed  to  her  cavalier  and  martyr  in  one.  Three 
years  in  Newgate  !  A  gentleman,  a  man  of  education,  — 
how  s-ad  a  fate  !  Michelle  heard  much  of  Roger's  ac- 
quirements and  naturally  supposed  him  to  have  been  a 
learned  young  man  when  he  slapped  the  plate  of  beans 
into  Dutch  William's  face.  And  the  half-brother  whom 
he  had  fostered  and  generously  maintained,  to  oust  him 
from  his  inheritance !  Surely,  no  man  at  St.  Germains 
had  been  so  hardly  dealt  with ;  and  the  knowledge  that 
William  of  Orange  wished  to  conciliate  him,  and  that 
there  was  little  doubt  he  could  have  recovered  most 
if  not  all  of  his  estate,  by  simply  staying  at  Egremont 
when  he  was  flung  down  there,  and  that  he  refused 
the  bounty  of  a  usurper,  and  chose  rather  to  share 
honorable  poverty  and  exile  with  his  fellow  loyalists,  — 
all  this  appealed  powerfully  to  this  dark-eyed  child  of 
France- 
She  did  not  meet  him  often,  —  he  was  kept  close  to 
the  chateau  then,  and  she  did  not  much  frequent  the 
levees  there,  —  and  so  only  saw  him  two  or  three  times 
at  a  distance  for  some  weeks  after  the  haying.  Roger's 
eyes,  it  is  true,  were  always  seeking  Michelle  whenever 
he  walked  abroad,  but  he  went  not  after  her  bodily. 
She  had  not  given  him  permission  to  visit  her,  and 
while  it  was  true  that  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  was 
forever  urging  him  to  come  to  see  her,  the  old  lady 
stayed  at  home  so  seldom  that  there  was  small  chance 
of  seeing  her  except  upon  those  formal  occasions  when 
she  held  handsome  routs  and  balls.  And,  most  of  all, 
Roger  was  instinctively  learned  in  the  hearts  of  women, 
and  he  divined  that  if  he  did  not  go  often  to  the 
chateau  of  Beaumanoir,  the  haughty  daughter  of  the 
Holy   Roman   Empire   would   wonder   why   he  stayed 

151 


The  House  of  Egremont 

away  when  he  might  have  come.  As  for  daughters  of 
the  Holy  Roman  Empire  and  widows  of  dukes  and 
peers  of  France,  Roger  Egremont  reckoned  that  an 
English  gentleman  of  ancient  and  honorable  lineage 
was  in  every  way  their  equal  —  and  proposed  to  act  up 
to  his  belief. 

His  inward  prophecy  was  fulfilled  in  one  way. 
Mademoiselle  d'Orantia  wondered  extremely  why  Mr. 
Egremont  did  not  try  to  see  and  speak  with  her  — 
wondered  every  day,  and  more  than  once  a  day;  and 
one  lovely  September  morning,  walking  with  only  an 
attendant  through  the  forest  of  St.  Germains,  with  this 
vexatious  thought  of  Roger  in  her  mind,  she  suddenly 
came  upon  what  she  thought  was  the  reason  of  his 
want  of  zeal  for  the  prosecution  of  her  acquaintance. 
She  saw  him  ahead  of  her,  at  a  turning  in  the  forest, 
talking  with  a  handsome  young  creature,  in  the  coarse 
skirt  and  bodice  and  linen  cap  of  a  woman  of  the 
humbler  class ;  and  he  held  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and 
bowed  with  so  much  deference  when  he  left  her  that 
she  might  have  been  the  Queen  herself. 

Roger  Egremont  passed  on  without  seeing  Michelle, 
and  his  companion  turning  on  her  way,  the  two  women 
came  face  to  face  in  the  narrow  path.  Michelle,  wearing 
a  large  hat  and  feathers,  holding  her  silken  skirts  up 
daintily,  her  servant  following  her  with  her  book,  was 
at  once  recognized  by  Bess  as  the  young  lady  she  had 
seen  with  Roger  the  day  of  the  hay-making  in  the 
meadow.  They  both  colored  high,  and  Michelle, 
haughtily  turned  away  her  eyes  as  she  passed.  Bess, 
so  far  from  doing  likewise,  craned  her  neck  as  she 
went  on,  and  watched  Michelle  until  an  elbow  in  the 
road  hid  her  from  view. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  any  woman,  in  her  heart, 

152 


Roger  Meets  Good  and  111  Fortune 

disparages  her  rival.  Bess  Lukens  did  not,  for  one 
moment,  recognize  the  far  greater  beauty  that  was  hers  ; 
she  only  saw  the  grace  and  elegance  of  Michelle,  her 
delicate  figure  and  slim  hands  and  feet,  and  her  heart 
cried  aloud,  "  How  coarse  and  common  must  I  seem  to 
Roger,  when  he  sees  these  dainty  ladies !  " 

And  Michelle,  acutely  sensitive  to  the  brightness  and 
splendor  of  Bess's  beauty,  to  her  ravishing  coloring  and 
glorious  physical  perfections,  said  to  herself  with  a 
bitterness,  for  which  she  could  not  account,  — 

"  No  wonder  Mr.  Egremont  takes  off  his  hat  to  that 
sumptuous  creature.  Pity  some  of  her  betters  had  not 
her  beauty;  we  are  but  pale  and  bloodless  shadows 
alongside  of  that  brilliant  comeliness." 

And  as  it  always  happens,  Roger  was  called  to  ac- 
count by  both  Bess  and  Michelle.  Bess,  with  an  armful 
of  clean  linen,  meeting  Roger  that  evening  on  the  stairs, 
said  tartly,  — 

"I  saw  to-day  the  young  lady  that  you  made  hay 
with.     She  is  not  so  handsome." 

Bess,  observe,  was  speaking  not  to  herself,  but  to 
Roger  Egremont,  of  the  woman  she  thought  he 
favored. 

Roger,  with  a  poltroon's  readiness,  answered,  — 

"  I  think  she  is  not  considered  a  great  beauty,  though 
very  charming.  She  is  not  half  so  handsome  as  you. 
How  come  you  on  in  French?" 

"  Pretty  well,"  replied  Bess,  seeing  that  Roger  slid 
away  from  the  subject  of  the  Princess  Michelle  — 
whose  name  and  quality  she  had  found  out  promptly. 
"  I  know  enough  French  now  to  make  the  impudent 
French  devils  behave  themselves."  And  she  passed  on 
to  her  work. 

Roger  went  up  to  his  attic  congratulating  himself  that 

153 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Michelle  had  not  seen  him  with  Bess  in  the  forest  that 
morning,  —  a  purely  accidental  meeting,  as  he  was  on 
his  way  to  do  an  errand  for  the  King,  though  it  might 
well  have  looked  like  an  appointment.  The  first  thing 
he  saw  on  his  rickety  table  was  a  note  from  Madame 
de  Beaumanoir.  She  would  be  at  home  that  evening. 
Would  Mr.  Egremont  come  ?  It  was  always  a  pleasure 
to  see  one  of  those  devil-may-care  Egremonts. 

Roger  immediately  began  dressing  himself  in  his 
gray  and  silver  suit,  and  afterward  went  to  a  barber 
in  the  town  to  shave  him  and  give  a  curl  to  his  long 
fair  hair.  The  Princess  Michelle  did  not  wear  powder ; 
he  had  ever  loathed  it,  and  would  scarcely  have  put 
a  dust  of  it  on  his  hair  then  for  a  thousand  pounds, 
and  swore  frightfully  at  the  innocent  barber  when  he 
suggested  it. 

The  chateau  de  Beaumanoir  was  all  ablaze  with 
lights.  Servants  were  in  plenty,  and  a  supper  which 
would  have  commanded  even  Bess  Lukens's  respect 
was  set  out,  —  an  English  custom  which  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir  had  retained,  as  she  retained  all  her  other 
English  customs.  Crowds  attended  her  levees,  as 
crowds  always  will  when  there  is  meat  and  drink  and 
amusement  free. 

Roger  entered  the  grand  saloon  to  speak  to  Madame 
de  Beaumanoir  meanwhile,  looking  out  with  a  beating 
heart  for  Michelle.  Yes,  there  she  stood,  in  her  usual 
place  near  the  old  duchess.  She  was  looking  unusually 
charming.  She  was  singular,  not  only  in  eschewing 
powder,  but  in  not  wearing  the  gigantic  head-dress  of 
the  age,  —  a  head-dress  much  disliked  by  Louis  the 
Fourteenth,  but  which  the  power  of  one  of  the  most 
absolute  monarchs  in  the  world  was  unable  to  abolish. 
As    Roger  drew  near   Michelle,  some   gentlemen   and 

154 


Roger  Meets  Good  and  111  Fortune 

ladies  were  complimenting  her  upon  the  favor  shown 
her  by  the  King  on  her  late  visit  to  Marly-le-Roi. 

"  'Tis  said  that  the  King  not  only  spoke  of  you  after 
you  left,  but  complimented  you  the  next  day,"  said 
one. 

"  'T  was  very  kind  of  his  Majesty,"  said  Michelle ; 
and  the  old  Duchess,  turning  to  Roger  who  was  near- 
by, cried  out,  — 

"  'T  was  all  because  she  wore  her  own  hair  and  no 
head-dress.    By    such    things    is    the    favor    of    kings 


won 


"  And  is  it  true,  mademoiselle,  that  his  Majesty 
walked  with  you  by  the  side  of  the  canal  for  half  an 
hour,  and  then,  to  have  more  private  talk,  went  with 
you  toward  the  dairy  in  the  wood  ?  "  some  one  asked. 

"  The  King  walked  a  little  with  me,"  replied  Michelle, 
coolly  —  she  had  by  no  means  that  overpowering  sub- 
servience to  royalty  which  was  the  prevailing  fashion. 
Yet,  Roger  Egremont,  keen  of  wit,  saw  that  she  was 
rather  more  pleased  than  she  would  admit.  What 
young  girl  would  not  be,  singled  out  for  conversation 
by  the  greatest  monarch  in  the  world? 

"  I  think,  mademoiselle,"  Roger  ventured,  "  the  dress- 
ing of  your  hair  was  a  master  stroke.  I  hear  the  King 
has  labored  incessantly,  but  vainly,  against  those  mon- 
strous head-dresses  for  years ;  and  when  his  Majesty 
saw  a  woman  of  taste  like  yourself,  mademoiselle,  why 
should  he  not  favor  you?" 

Michelle,  instead  of  keeping  to  the  safe  and  steady 
ground  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  and  head-dresses,  asked 
very  softly  and  sweetly  a  question  she  thought  would  be 
most  embarrassing  to  Roger. 

"  Who  was  that  handsome  creature  I  saw  you  speak- 
ing with  in  the  forest  this  morning  ?  " 

155 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Roger  started  and  colored  guiltily.  He  at  once 
remembered  Bess,  but  he  could  not  recall  seeing 
Michelle. 

"This  morning?"  he  stammered.  "Well, 'twas  — 
I  —  I  —  I  did  not  see  you  in  the  forest  then,  made- 
moiselle ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Michelle,  "  I  happened  to  be  behind 
you,  and  I  was  struck  with  the  beauty  of  the  girl." 

And  then,  suddenly,  some  sense  of  how  rash  her 
question  might  be  dyed  Michelle's  face  scarlet.  Roger, 
however,  recovering  his  self-possession,  replied,  — 

"  It  was  Bess  Lukens,  a  very  honest  English  girl,  of 
humble  condition,  who  was  kind  to  me  when  I  was  in 
"  prison,  and  for  whom  I  have  a  profound  respect.  Like 
many  of  our  English,  she  drifted  to  St.  Germains,  but 
she  has  been  luckier  than  most.  She  has  a  fine  natural 
voice,  and  Monsieur  Mazet,  of  the  King's  Opera,  has 
offered  to  teach  her  singing.  She  is  living  with  Ma- 
dame Michot  at  the  inn  and  working  there  for  her  liv- 
ing, until  she  learns  something  of  the  French  language, 
then  she  goes  to  Monsieur  Mazet's  house  in  Paris,  to 
live  with  his  old  sister  and  to  learn  to  sing  and  act." 

An  "honest  English  girl  of  humble  condition." 
Michelle  had  no  idea  of  how  very  humble  Bess's  condi- 
tion was.  The  whole  story  had  a  pretty  and  romantic 
sound  to  Michelle's  ears.  She  knew  the  English  were 
very  much  less  conventional  than  the  French,  and  far 
more  sentimental  in  their  feelings,  though  not  over- 
flowing with  it  in  words.  Instantly  the  thought 
flashed  through  her  mind  that  Bess  Lukens  was  really 
going  to  Paris  to  be  educated,  and  when  that  was  done 
Roger  would  marry  her. 

Michelle  said  nothing  more,  but,  the  music  striking 
up  in  the  dancing  saloon,  permitted  Roger  to  lead  her 

156 


Roger  Meets  Good  and  111  Fortune 

out  to  dance.  And  as  she  danced  she  was  saying  to 
herself,  — 

"  What  a  pity  it  is  I  —  he  a  gentleman,  so  graceful, 
courtly,  and  polished,  and  she  a  common  girl,  whose 
beauty  will  go  to  seed  like  a  coarse  hollyhock.  Well, 
these  poor  exiles  must  often  find  it  hard  to  remember 
their  quality." 

And  every  time  she  looked  at  Roger,  when  he  made 
her  the  sweeping  bow  the  dance  required,  he  seemed  to 
her  more  elegant,  more  of  a  courtier.  Remember,  she 
had  not  known  him  when  he  could  barely  write  his 
name,  and  when  Molly  the  housemaid  and  the  stable- 
men and  gamekeepers  were  his  best  friends. 

That  night,  as  every  time  he  saw  Michelle,  Roger 
felt  more  and  more  her  power  over  him,  and  it  began 
to  come  home  to  him,  in  the  most  painful  way,  that 
he  was  poor  and  likely  for  the  present  to  remain  so,  — 
that  he  was  but  a  commoner,  while  Michelle  was  Made- 
moiselle the  Princess  d'Orantia  —  and  a  dozen  other 
drawbacks,  miseries,  discomforts,  and  disadvantages,  all 
of  which  were  to  him  like  the  sharp  points  in  the 
iron  girdle  which  poor  King  James  wore  secretly  for  his 
sins,  one  day  in  the  week.  Not  that  these  things  im- 
paired Roger  Egremont's  courage,  —  he  continued  to  fear 
God  and  take  his  own  part,  according  to  the  motto  of 
the  Egremonts,  —  but  they  were  not  pleasant.  He  still 
made  no  eiTort  to  see  much  of  Michelle,  —  his  lore  in 
feminine  human  nature  taught  him  that  much, — and 
besides,  he  had  honor  enough  left  not  to  plead  business 
with  the  King  as  an  excuse  for  not  seeing  Bess  Lukens 
often,  and  then  find  time  to  haunt  the  presence  of 
Mademoiselle  d'  Orantia ;  and  the  King  had  especial 
need  of  his  services  then,  and  would  not  let  him  off; 
so  he  practised  virtue,  discretion,  and  industry  under 

157 


The  House  of  Egremont 

compulsion,  which  is  better  than  not  practising  them 
at  all. 

The  golden  September  wore  on,  and  brown  October 
came,  and  on  a  glorious  morning,  early  in  the  month, 
Monsieur  Mazet  appeared,  by  appointment,  to  take 
Bess  Lukens  to  Paris.  Her  few  belongings  were  packed 
up ;  Madame  Michot  had  paid  her  liberally  for  her 
two  months'  work,  and  in  good,  hard,  round,  solid  gold- 
pieces.  The  good  woman  still  disapproved  of  so  excel- 
lent a  cook  and  laundress  trying  the  uncertain  future 
of  an  artist,  but  her  experience  with  Bess  for  two 
months  had  convinced  her  that  there  was  no  danger  in 
Paris  or  anywhere  else  for  that  robust  young  woman. 
Jacques,  an  honest  fellow,  who  would  have  been  in 
love  with  Bess  had  he  not  been  so  mortally  afraid  of 
her,  presented  her  with  a  handsome  set  of  ribbons ,  and 
Roger  Egremont,  taking  her  off  privately,  gave  her  two 
gold  louis  d'or. 

"  'T  is  all  I  have  to  give  thee,  Bess,  except  my  love 
and  respect,  but  I  give  it  with  a  good  will," 

"  Thank  you,  Roger,"  replied  Bess,  returning  once 
more  to  their  old  familiar  way  of  speaking.  "You 
have  given  me  that  which  is  worth  more  to  me  than 
money.  But  for  you,  I  should  have  been  still  in  Eng- 
land, with  the  words  'gaoler's  girl'  hanging  to  me  like 
the  ball  and  chain  they  put  to  a  felon.  But  thanks  to 
you,  I  am  beginning  a  new  life  in  a  new  country,  with 
all  that  ugly  past  behind  me ;  no  one  but  you  knows 
what  that  past  is  —  but  you  and  Mr.  Dicky,  and  he, 
good  soul,  will  never  tell  it  any  more  than  you  will." 

It  did  not  need  Bess's  inadvertent  admission  for 
Roger  to  know  that  he  had  been  the  cause  of  her  com- 
ing to  France. 

Madame  Michot  was  then  heard  calling  excitedly  from 
158 


Roger  Meets  Good  and  111  Fortune 

the  orchard,  and  Bess  and  Roger  appeared.  There  was 
a  gate  at  the  bottom  of  the  orchard,  opening  into  a 
lane  which  led  to  the  highroad,  and  by  that  way 
Bess  was  to  start.  She  had  looked  for  a  saddle  with 
a  pillion  to  take  Papa  Mazet  and  herself  to  Paris,  but 
oh,  glory !  —  there,  at  the  open  gate,  stood  a  coach, 
a  great  lumbering  house  of  a  thing,  with  a  pair  of  post 
horses  to  it,  and  a  tall,  rawboned  saddle-horse  besides. 
And  there  was  not  only  Papa  Mazet  and  Madame 
Michot  and  Jacques,  but  several  of  the  inn  servants  and 
five  small  boys  to  see  Bess  get  into  the  imposing  equi- 
page provided  for  her. 

Papa  Mazet  advanced  as  Bess  followed  by  Roger 
came  running  down  the  orchard. 

"  This  is  for  you,  mademoiselle,"  said  Papa  Mazet. 
"  I  go  a-horseback  to  Paris,  but  I  would  not  have  it  said 
that  one  with  so  lovely  a  voice  as  yours  should  enter 
Paris  except  in  a  coach." 

Bess  was  nearly  wild  with  delight. 

"  A  coach ! "  she  cried.  "  Me  going  to  Paris  in  a 
coach  1  Bess  Lukens  a-riding  in  a  coach  1  I  never 
was  in  one  before"  (Poor  Bess,  in  her  excitement, 
said  "afore,"  but  quickly  corrected  herself);  and  her 
eyes  shone  like  stars  and  she  almost  wept  with  joy. 

"  Come,  Bess,"  cried  Roger,  happy  in  the  good  soul's 
happiness,  "let  me  assist  you  into  the  coach,  so  that 
you  may  say  with  truth  that  you  knew  how  to  get  in 
and  out  of  a  coach  before  ever  you  saw  Paris." 

Bess  stepped  forward  with  the  greatest  alacrity,  and 
Roger  handed  her  in  with  much  ceremony,  she  hold- 
ing her  head  very  high,  and  the  warm  color  mantling 
her  cheeks.  And  then  she  sat  back  and  fanned  herself 
with  her  hand,  —  a  fan  was  not  yet  among  Bess's  pos- 
sessions.    And  having  tasted  this  part  of  the  pleasure, 

159 


The  House  of  Egremont 

she  rose  and  descended  with  all  the  majesty  in  the 
world,  Roger  still  ceremoniously  assisting,  with  Mon- 
sieur Mazet  and  Madame  Michot  admiring  and  ejacu- 
lating, and  all  the  inn  servants  grinning  behind  them. 

But  it  was  now  time  to  start,  if  they  would  make 
Paris  before  dark,  for  the  roads  were  heavy,  and  the 
coach  made  but  slow  progress  at  best.  Bess  there- 
fore kissed  Madame  Michot,  saying  to  her  solemnly,  — 

"  I  swear  to  you  I  will  so  act  in  Paris  that  you  will 
never  be  ashamed  to  say  you  know  me.  And  I  thank  you 
a  thousand,  thousand  times  for  your  goodness  to  me." 

"'Tis  nothing,"  graciously  replied  Madame  Michot 
"  You  earned  all  I  did  for  you  and  more." 

Then  Jacques  shuffled  forward  and  said,  — 

"  I  go  to  Paris  twice  in  the  week  in  the  cart,  and  any 
time  you  like  to  come  out,  why,  there 's  plenty  of  room 
in  the  cart." 

"I  know  it  —  and  I'll  come,"  cried  Bess,  shaking 
Jacques's  hand  vigorously. 

Madame  Michot  watched  narrowly  for  any  lover-like 
symptoms  on  the  part  of  either  Roger  or  Bess  at  part- 
ing. But  they  parted  with  the  openness  and  warmth 
of  friendship  only,  Bess  saying,  — 

"  And  give  my  duty  and  love  to  Mr.  Dicky,  and  put 
it  in  the  right  words ;  for  though  I  know  exactly  how 
to  treat  him  when  I  talk  with  him,  yet  I  don't  know 
how  to  send  a  message  to  a  popish  priest  that  is  to  be." 

"  I  will  —  I  will,"  cried  Roger,  and  helped  her  in  the 
coach  for  the  second  time.  Papa  Mazet  mounted  his 
tall  charger,  and  they  set  forth,  Bess  putting  her  head 
out  of  the  window  to  instruct  the  postboys  to  be  sure 
and  drive  through  the  principal  streets  as  they  left  the 
town. 

In  truth,  dear  as  Roger  was  to   Bess,  the   parting, 

160 


Roger  Meets  Good  and  111  Fortune 

borne  so  calmly  on  her  part,  was  robbed  of  much  of 
its  sting.  The  coach  was  the  outward  and  visible  sign 
that  she  had  been  raised  from  her  ignoble  estate,  and 
the  thought  comforted  her  simple  soul.  And  St.  Ger- 
mains  was  but  fourteen  miles  from  Paris,  and  the  semi- 
weekly  cart  was  a  great  comfort  to  her  mind.  So  she 
set  forth  on  her  momentous  journey  with  a  light  heart, 
and  little  anticipated  a  trifling  though  noisy  misad- 
venture which  was  to  befall  her  before  she  had  been 
an  hour  upon  the  road. 

It  was  a  crisp,  bright  morning,  and  they  had  jogged 
along  steadily  on  the  highway,  Bess  sitting  majestically 
on  the  back  seat  of  the  coach,  enjoying  herself  hugely. 
It  is  true  that  the  dazzling  color  of  her  cheeks  was 
somewhat  paled,  and  she  had  certain  qualms  which  the 
jerky  motion  of  a  coach  is  wont  to  impart  to  one  un- 
used to  it.  But  Bess  had  a  soul  above  such  trifles,  and 
would  have  endured  the  agonies  of  martyrdom  with  a 
high  spirit,  if  only  so  she  could  have  enjoyed  her  new 
and  delicious  splendors.  She  was  saying  to  herself  for 
the  hundredth  time,  "To  think  that  I,  Red  Bess,  be 
riding  to  Paris  in  a  coach,"  when  there  was  a  vio- 
lent shock  of  collision,  and  Bess  found  herself  almost 
pitched  through  the  coach  window  on  the  highroad. 
She  recovered  her  lost  balance  quickly,  and  then  found 
that  a  wheel  had  come  off,  and  her  imposing  equipage 
lay  ignominiously  tip-tilted  in  the  road.  Papa  Mazet 
had  dismounted  from  liis  tall  charger,  but  found  him- 
self quite  unequal  to  cope  with  such  a  catastrophe  ;  nor 
could  the  postilions  repair  the  injury.  They  had,  how- 
ever, passed  the  shop  of  a  blacksmith  only  half  a  mile 
back,  and  Papa  Mazet,  putting  spurs  to  liis  tall  horse, 
trotted  back  to  fetch  the  blacksmith. 

Bess  chose  rather  to  remain  in  the  coach,  tip-tilted 
11  161 


The  House  of  Egremont 

as  it  was ;  for  the  equipage  was  invested  with  a  kind 
of  superstitious  reverence  in  her  mind,  and  she  was 
seriously  afraid  of  bad  luck  if  she  once  put  her  foot 
to  the  ground  before  dismounting  at  Paris.  So  sitting 
at  an  uncomfortable  angle, 'and  barricaded  with  cush- 
ions, she  prepared  to  await  with  patience  Papa  Mazet's 
return  with  help. 

Presently  there  was  a  great  clattering  on  the  road, 
and  a  chariot  and  four,  very  splendidly  equipped,  came 
thundering  along,  and  drew  up  directly  by  the  side  of 
Bess's  disabled  equipage ;  and  peering  out  of  the  win- 
dow directly  upon  Bess  was  a  little,  bright-eyed  old 
woman,  gorgeously  dressed,  and  powdered.  She  occu- 
pied the  whole  of  the  back  seat.  On  the  front  seat 
was  the  dark-eyed,  elegant  girl  that  Bess  had  seen  in 
the  meadow  first  with  Roger,  and  had  afterward  met 
in  the  park,  and  who  was,  as  Roger  said,  the  Princess 
Michelle. 

"What  have  we  here?"  cried  Madame  de  Beau- 
manoir,  in  French. 

"  An  accident,  madam,"  replied  Bess,  in  such  French 
as  she  could  muster. 

"  Why  don't  you  get  out  of  the  coach,  girl  ?  "  asked 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir. 

"  Because  I  don't  choose  to,"  coolly  replied  Bess. 

The  presence  of  Michelle,  the  calm  unconcern  with 
which  she  surveyed  the  scene,  had  in  it  something 
irritating  to  Bess.  This  was  the  girl  of  whom  she 
tried  to  make  Roger  Egremont  speak  and  he  would 
not,  beyond  a  few  colorless  phrases.  Bess's  own  imagi- 
nation supplied  enough  to  make  her  dislike  Michelle 
and  it  lighted  a  fire  in  her  eyes,  and  brought  the  blood 
to  her  cheek,  at  this  chance  meeting. 

Madame   de    Beaumanoir    was    quite    indignant   at 

162 


Roger  Meets  Good  and  111  Fortune 

Bess's  debonair  reply,  and  turning  to  Michelle,  cried 
in  English,  — 

"  Did  ever  you  hear  such  impudence  ?  Who,  think 
you,  the  creature  is  ?  " 

"  Miss  Lukens ! "  almost  shouted  Bess,  also  in  Eng- 
lish, and  sitting  up  very  straight  and  putting  her  head 
through  the  window  so  that  she  and  her  adversary, 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  were  scarce  a  foot  apart. 
"That's  who  I  am;  who  are  you?" 

"I,"  replied  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  very  tartly, 
"am  Madame  the  Duchess  of  Beaumanoir." 

"Well,  Madame  the  Duchess  of  Beaumanoir,"  re- 
plied Bess,  whose  warm  temper  was  thoroughly  aroused 
by  this  time,  "I  would  advise  you  to  waste  no  more 
time  in  affairs  not  your  own,  but  to  go  about  your 
business." 

"  Hold ! "  said  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  light  break- 
ing in  upon  her;  "are  not  you  the  English  girl  who 
came  to  St.  Germains  after  young  Egremont?  Sure," 
said  the  old  lady,  turning  to  Michelle,  "this  is  that 
hussy ! " 

Bess  glared  at  her  adversary  for  a  whole  minute. 
Her  face  was  alternately  flushing  and  paling,  and  her 
eyes,  although  defiant,  were  brimming  over.  And  sud- 
denly, instead  of  bursting  into  a  storm  of  wrath,  she 
fell,  quite  unexpectedly  to  herself,  into  a  passion  of 
tears,  that  flowed  like  a  fountain  and  drenched  her 
face,  and  shook  her  figure  with  sobs.  Bess  Lukens 
was  not  a  woman  of  many  tears ;  few  persons  or  things 
could  make  her  weep ;  but  this  unlooked-for  encounter, 
this  harsh  accusation,  the  feeling  that  perhaps  her  com- 
ing to  St.  Germains  had  cast  discredit  on  the  man  she 
loved  so  deeply  and  disinterestedly,  overpowered  her. 
And  there  was  the  woman  whom  she  unconsciously  put 

163 


The  House  of  Egremont 

in  the  place  of  a  rival,  a  witness  to  her  distress  and 
humiliation!  The  world  looked  very  black  to  Bess 
Lukens  then. 

Madame  de  Beaumauoir,  however,  was  not  a  woman 
of  evil  heart,  though  of  unbridled  tongue,  and  she  was 
sorry  at  the  sight  of  the  pain  she  had  given.  Like 
most  persons  of  her  condition  and  of  her  time,  she 
thought  the  common  people  provided  with  a  set  of  feel- 
ings entirely  different  from  their  betters,  and  did  not 
suppose  that  Bess  would  object  to  being  called  a  hussy, 
or  to  be  accused  of  following  Roger  Egremont  any- 
where. Seeing  her  mistake  in  this  case,  she  was  will- 
ing to  make  amends.  But  before  she  could  speak, 
Michelle  leaned  forward  and  said,  in  a  very  kind 
voice,  to  Bess,  — 

"I  think  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  is  mistaken.  I 
have  heard  that  you  are  a  most  respectable  girl,  and 
very  gifted  in  singing.  And  Mr.  Roger  Egremont  has 
spoken  of  you  to  me,  —  a  thing  he  would  scarcely  have 
done,  did  you  not  indeed  have  his  respect." 

The  words  astonished  Bess  Lukens.  She  shared 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  notions  concerning  the  gulf 
which  separated  gentle  and  simple,  and  the  idea  had 
never  dawned  upon  her  mind  that  a  woman  in  Michelle's 
position  could  care  about  the  feelings  of  a  woman  at 
the  other  end  of  the  scale.  Bess  looked  up,  her  amaze- 
ment checking  her  tears,  and  in  Michelle's  black  eyes 
she  saw  kindness,  good-will,  all  that  makes  women  sis- 
ters. She  reached  forth  her  hand,  and  took  Michelle's 
—  it  was  hard  to  say  which  woman's  hand  was  advanced 
first. 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  Bess,  with  perfect  dignity.  "  I 
was  a  fool  to  let  an  idle,  malicious  word  upset  me  so. 
But  't  was  the  first  time  I  ever  had  such  a  thing  said 

164 


Roger  Meets  Good  and  111  Fortune 

to  my  face,  though  God  knows  many  might  have  said 
it  behind  my  back.  I  scorn  to  defend  myself,  but  I 
cannot  let  a  loyal  gentleman,  like  Mr.  Roger  Egremont, 
who  has  been  my  friend,  be  traduced  for  me.  If  he 
had  been  what  some  persons  think,  would  the  Duke  of 
Berwick  have  asked  Madame  Michot  to  take  me  in  her 
house  ?  Would  Monsieur  Mazet,  with  whom  I  am  now 
going  to  Paris,  offer  to  take  me  under  his  roof,  with  his 
sister,  while  I  study  singing  ?  And  all  these  things  are 
of  common  repute  in  St.  Germains." 

Bess  had  steadily  refrained  from  addressing  Madame 
de  Beaumanoir,  and  looked  straight  into  Michelle's 
eyes.  The  two  women  felt  not  the  smallest  warming 
of  the  heart  one  to  the  other,  but  an  instant  and  per- 
fect respect.  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  however,  was 
not  a  person  to  be  ignored,  and  at  this  stage  of  the 
proceedings,  she  put  in  her  word. 

"Now  I  remember,  my  nephew  FranQois,  who  col- 
lects all  the  news  for  me,  —  that  is,  such  news  as  a  poor 
rag  of  a  man  like  him  can  collect,  —  told  me  that  it  was 
all  pure  invention  about  you  and  Roger  Egremont,  and 
that  you  were  perfectly  well  behaved  and  not  above 
your  station.     I  am  sorry  I  called  you  a  hussy." 

Bess  bowed  haughtily. 

Madame  de  Beaumanoir  continued  with  animation: 

"But  I  should  like  to  know  how  any  girl  of  your 
condition,  and  with  your  good  looks  —  for  you  are  a 
handsome  baggage  if  ever  I  saw  one  —  there,  there,  don't 
fly  out — I  should  like  to  know,  I  say,  how  you  dare  to 
remain  virtuous?  'Twas  not  so  in  the  days  of  my 
ever  dear  and  blessed  King  Charles,  who  is  now  an 
angel  in  heaven.  Why,  the  greatest  ladies  in  the  land 
did  n't  care  a  button  about  virtue !  Well,  I  say,  the 
world  is  continually  growing  more  topsy-turvy  and  out- 

165 


The  House  of  Egremont 

landish,  and  when  a  girl  like  you  —  a  London  tradesman's 
daughter,  no  doubt  —  prates  about  her  virtue  and  respec- 
tability, and  flames  up  because  a  woman  of  quality  calls 
her  a  hussy,  I  don't  know  what  we  shall  come  to  1 " 

"  All  I  have  to  say,  madam,"  said  Bess  in  reply,  "  is, 
that  I  hold  my  name  as  dear  as  my  betters ;  and  as 
for  your  ever  dear  and  blessed  King  Charles,  I  have 
always  heard  he  was  a  great  rascal  where  women  were 
concerned." 

"  Drive  on,  coachman  ! "  screamed  Madame  de  Beau- 
manoir,  in  much  horror  and  indignation ;  and  her  coach 
rolled  off,  leaving  Bess  Lukens  victor  on  the  field  of 
battle. 

The  postilions,  as  well  as  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's 
footmen,  had  very  much  enjoyed  this  bout,  and  were 
sorry  when  it  came  to  an  end  by  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's 
departure,  and  Monsieur  Mazet's  arrival  with  the 
smith.  In  half  an  hour,  the  wheel  was  repaired,  —  Bess 
steadily  refusing,  from  superstitious  and  other  motives, 
to  leave  the  coach ;  and  sunset  saw  her  arrived  at  the 
Porte  Saint  Martin,  then  unfinished.  The  size  and 
height  of  the  houses  of  Paris  delighted  her,  and  espe- 
cially, the  novelty  of  seeing  the  streets  lighted  at  night 
by  lanterns  strung  across  on  ropes.  And  she  saw  more 
coaches  in  her  drive  to  Monsieur  Mazet's  house  than  she 
had  ever  seen  in  all  her  life  before. 

Arrived  at  her  new  home,  she  found  it  a  tall  old 
house,  surrounded  by  other  tall  old  houses  in  the  Rue 
Mazarin,  and  dismounting  and  entering,  she  found 
Mademoiselle  Mazet,  a  tall  old  lady,  who  received  her 
kindly.  There  were  innumerable  spinets  and  harpsi- 
chords about,  and  stringed  instruments  of  all  sorts,  and 
piles  of  manuscript  music.  Bess  had  a  famous  appetite 
for  supper,  but  was  ready  to  weep  with  disappointment 

166 


Roger  Meets  Good  and  111  Fortune 

when  she  was  set  down  to  eggs,  a  bit  of  fish,  and  a  very 
small  ragout,  mostly  vegetables.  Her  hosts  were  some- 
what appalled  by  her  appetite  ;  nevertheless,  Bess  went 
hungry  to  bed.  She  determined,  however,  if  necessary, 
to  starve,  in  order  to  learn  to  sing.  She  slept  well,  as 
people  do  whose  digestions  and  consciences  are  in  per- 
fect condition,  and  next  morning  she  made  the  glori- 
ous discovery  that  in  her  voice,  as  trained  by  Papa 
Mazet,  she  had  an  everlasting  source  of  joy  and  comfort. 

Papa  Mazet  was  delighted  with  his  pupil,  from  the 
very  first  lesson  he  gave  her.  Her  strong  young  body 
was  a  fit  abode  for  her  powerful  and  delicious  voice. 

While  the  reading  of  books  had  ever  been  more  pain 
than  pleasure  to  her,  she  learned  to  read  music  with  sur- 
prising quickness,  and  even  to  accompany  herself  on  the 
spinet  and  harpsichord.  Mademoiselle  Mazet  was  equally 
pleased  with  her,  for  Bess  was  quite  incapable  of  airs, 
and  asked  no  waiting  on,  which  would  have  been  more 
of  a  novelty  than  a  pleasure  to  her.  Then,  as  soon  as 
she  found  herself  at  home,  her  native  and  ineradicable 
sense  of  order  and  cleanliness  asserted  itself.  From 
keeping  her  own  room  exquisitely  neat,  she  came  to 
take  charge  of  the  dark  old  house.  In  a  little  while 
the  cobwebs  of  a  century  had  been  ruthlessly  swept  out, 
the  dust  of  ages  had  been  sent  along  with  the  cobwebs, 
the  piles  of  music  were  put  in  decent  order,  the  instru- 
ments primly  ranged  against  the  wall,  unused  windows 
were  opened,  and  light,  cleanliness,  and  comfort  reigned 
in  Monsieur  Mazet's  house.  From  keeping  the  house 
in  order,  she  insensibly  came  to  looking  after  the  house- 
hold affairs,  when  she  discovered  that  the  Mazets  were 
regularly  and  systematically  cheated  by  their  servants 
and  tradespeople.  Bess  sent  for  two  or  three  of  the 
worst  of  them,  the  candle  merchant,  the  wood  mer- 

167 


The  House  of  Egremont 

chant,  and  the  butcher,  and  descending  majestically  to 
the  kitchen,  harangued  them  forcibly  in  such  French  as 
she  could  command,  eked  out  with  very  vigorous  Eng- 
lish. And  being  naturally  of  a  hot  temper,  she  indulged 
it,  and  was  secretly  pleased  to  find  that  her  dramatic 
outburst  had  actually  frightened  the  cheats  extremely. 
Monsieur  Mazet,  listening  anxiously  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  had  more  than  one  cause  of  congratulation  at  the 
panic  with  which  she  inspired  the  dishonest  tradespeo- 
ple, and  the  tragic  tone  with  which  she  threatened 
them.  After  having  dismissed  them,  trembling,  Bess 
came  upstairs  laughing.  Monsieur  Mazet  ran  forward, 
and  clasped  her  hands  with  delight. 

"  And  was  it  truly  acting,  my  child  ?  "  he  cried.  "  If 
it  was,  you  have  a  great  dramatic  genius,  and  you  will 
be  able  to  act  as  well  as  sing !  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  was  all  acting,"  diplomatically 
replied  Bess,  "but  I  think  I  scared  them  pretty  well, 
and  I  want  to  look  in  the  dictionary  and  find  some  more 
hard  names  that  I  can  call  them  next  time.  I  don't 
know  half  enough." 

When  she  had  been  in  Paris  about  a  month,  one 
morning  Roger  Egremont  dismounted  from  his  horse 
Merrylegs  at  the  Mazets'  door,  and  Bess,  seeing  him 
from  the  window,  ran  and  let  him  in. 

Roger  was  glad  to  see  her  so  well  and  happy.  Bess 
examined  him  critically,  but  saw  no  change  in  him. 
Roger  had  learned  the  lesson  of  self-possession  well,  and 
no  one  could  tell  from  his  countenance  when  things 
were  going  ill  with  him.  He  showed  the  same  old 
kindness  in  his  manner  to  her,  brought  her  many  mes- 
sages from  Madame  Michot,  and  wished  to  know  every 
particular  of  Bess's  welfare. 

She  told  him  all,  and  when  Roger  laughed  at  some  of 

168 


Roger  Meets  Good  and  111  Fortune 

the  things  she  told  him,  she  smiled  a  sly  and  pretty 
smile  at  him.     But  growing  serious,  she  said,  — 

"Papa  Mazet  says  I  must  not  be  Bess  Lukens  any 
longer,  —  that  when  people  begin  to  hear  of  me  as  a 
singer,  they  will  laugh  at  so  homely  a  name,  — but  I 
must  be  Elisa  Luccheni.  The  trouble  is,  that  I  can  write 
'  Bess  Lukens '  so  easy,  and  to  have  to  learn  to  write 
that  other  name,  't  will  be  monstrous  troublesome.'* 

"  Monsieur  Mazet  is  right,"  said  Roger,  laughing, 
"  And  I  will  write  Elisa  Luccheni  for  you,  so  you  may 
learn  to  write  it  yourself."  And  taking  his  tablets  from 
his  pocket  he  wrote  her  new  name  most  beautifully  and 
gave  it  to  her,  which  Bess  thankfully  accepted. 

And  then  she  had  to  tell  him  all  the  occurrences, 
great  and  small,  which  had  befallen  her  in  Papa 
Mazet's  house,  including  her  victory  over  the  trades- 
people, and  the  full  regeneration  of  the  premises,  under 
the  influence  of  soap  and  water. 

"  I  've  washed  everything  in  the  house,  Master  Roger, 
except  Papa  and  Mamma  Mazet  —  for  that 's  what  the 
good  souls  wish  me  to  call  them  —  and  I  have  a  great 
mind  to  put  them  in  a  great  pail  of  water  and  to  scrub 
them  both  well.  And  as  for  the  servants  and  trades- 
people, 't  would  do  your  heart  good  to  see  how  afraid  of 
me  they  are."  Here  Bess's  red  lips  parted  in  a  broad 
smile.  "  You  know  my  voice  is  pretty  loud  and  full  any- 
way, and  it's  more  so  since  I  have  got  to  doing  trillos 
and  roulades  and  such,  —  and  I  give  'em  the  benefit  of 
it.  And  then  I  've  learned  a  couple  of  dozen  hard 
words  out  of  the  dictionary,  and  when  I  bring  'em  out 
—  Lord !  how  it  makes  their  teeth  rattle  in  their  heads 
with  fear !  " 

Plainly  she  was  happy  and  well  employed,  —  but  not 
so  absorbed  in  her  new  life  as  to  be  forgetful  of  her 

169 


The  House  of  Egremont 

older  friends.  She  wanted  to  know  all  about  Madame 
Michot.  Jacques  had  been  to  see  her  twice  in  the  cart. 
And  how  was  Mr.  Dicky?  Roger  satisfied  her  on  all 
those  points.  When  it  came  to  his  own  affairs,  he  told 
her  glibly  enough  a  number  of  things ,  that  he  feared 
the  King  would  have  to  disband  the  gentlemen-at-arms  ; 
that  the  King  gave  him  much  writing  to  do,  and  the 
Queen  made  him  go  to  church  oftener  than  was  alto- 
gether agreeable ;  and,  in  short,  spoke  freely  of  all  his 
affairs,  except  the  most  important  one  —  how  his  heart 
lay.  He  never  once  mentioned  the  Princess  Michelle's 
name,  and  if  he  knew  of  the  encounter  in  the  highroad, 
he  kept  his  own  counsel  about  it. 

Roger  passed  a  pleasanter  hour  with  Bess  than  he  had 
yet  spent  with  her  in  France,  and  then  had  an  inter- 
view with  Papa  Mazet,  who  returned  home.  Bess 
scurried  out  of  the  way  as  he  came  in. 

"  Well,  monsieur,"  cried  Papa  Mazet  before  Roger 
could  speak.  "  Our  postulant  is  getting  on  finely. 
Such  a  voice  !  such  volume  !  —  it  increases  daily.  And 
she  is,  what  so  few  girls  of  her  condition  are,  a  natural 
actress.  The  women  of  the  people  are  not  trained  to 
self-control,  and  they  rarely  learn  it.  Your  fine  ladies 
are  the  ones  to  learn  acting  quickly,  for  they  are  taught 
to  play  a  part  as  soon  as  they  can  speak.  They  know 
how  to  smile  when  they  are  inwardly  tormented  with 
vexation ;  to  remain  calm  in  the  midst  of  provocation 
and  tumult ;  to  see  ridiculous  things  without  smiling 
and  heart-rending  things  without  weeping.  And  hark 
you,  Monsieur  Egremont,  this  girl  of  ours  is  very 
prudent  where  men  are  concerned.  She  seems  well 
versed  in  the  art  of  keeping  them  at  a  distance." 

"  That  is  true,"  gravely  replied  Roger.  "  I  know  of 
an  English  gentleman  who  once  dared  an  impertinence 

170 


Roger  Meets  Good  and  111  Fortune 

with  her,  and  she  gave  him  in  return  a  whack  with  a 
broom-handle,  of  which  he  will  bear  the  scar  to  his 
dying  day." 

"  'T  is  a  blessed  thing  for  her  that  she  is  of  that 
mind,"  answered  Papa  Mazet,  "for  she  will  have  to 
keep  many  at  bay  as  soon  as  she  appears  in  public." 


171 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHEREIN  THE  PRINCESS  MICHELLE  IS  PUT  IN  THE 
WAY  OF  SECURING  THE  DESTINY  OF  WHICH  SHE 
HAS   LONG  DREAMED 

BEING  a  changed  man  since  last  he  was  free,  Roger 
Egremont  had  to  learn  himself  all  over,  as  it 
were.  He  had  been  stupidly  surprised,  at  his  first  com- 
ing to  St.  Germains,  that  men  had  time  for  anything  but 
preparing  to  return  to  England.  He  came,  in  time,  to 
the  melancholy  belief,  like  the  rest  of  his  compatriots, 
that  they  would  do  no  more  fighting  for  James  II. 
The  next  blow  they  struck  would  be  for  James  III. ; 
and  he  was  a  child  not  yet  five  years  old !  Nor  did  this 
sad  conviction  bring  them  to  moroseness  and  despair, 
but  rather  to  dancing,  drinking,  and  fiddling.  For  men 
circumstanced  as  they  were  must  seek  forgetfulness,  or 
else  die  of  chagrin  and  weariness.  So  there  was  perpetual 
merry-making  going  on, —  a  masque,  or  a  ball  with  a 
couple  of  fiddlers  to  make  music,  followed  by  a  scant 
supper,  or  a  holiday  in  the  woods,  and  the  ever  gay 
inn  of  Michot.  There  was  a  general  invitation  to  Ver- 
sailles, and  often  special  ones  to  Marly,  given  by  the 
French  King  to  the  exiles  of  St.  Germains ;  and  as  these 
people  were  full  of  gratitude  towards  him  for  his  gener- 
osity to  their  master.  King  James,  they  sometimes  went. 
But  it  was  a  costly  business  in  carriages  and  fees  and 
the  like,  and  money  was  a  scarce  commodity,  from  the 
palace  of  St.  Germains  down  to  the  humblest  abode  of 

172 


The  Princess  Michelle's  Destiny- 
exiles  there.  So  the  crowds  of  them  stayed  tolerably 
close  to  the  village,  which  they  had  invaded  in  such 
numbers  as  to  make  a  populous  town.  Roger  Egremont 
was  in  the  thick  of  all  that  was  going  on  ;  and  if  some- 
times, as  he  lingered  under  the  quiet  stars,  returning 
from  an  evening  of  revelling,  or  walked  in  the  dusky 
autumn  twilight  through  the  leafless  alleys  of  the  forest 
of  St.  Germains,  he  thought  dismally  of  the  future,  and 
saw  that  no  headway  was  being  made  toward  a  restora- 
tion, he  presently  shook  off  his  uneasy  feelings,  whistled 
a  lively  air,  and  tried  to  be  as  unthinking  as  the  rest. 
At  all  events,  it  was  much  better  than  Newgate ;  that 
was  Roger's  everlasting  consolation. 

After  the  first  dazzling  delight  of  his  freedom,  he  had 
returned  to  books.  Once  more  they  became  the  chief 
pleasure  of  his  life.  But  he  turned  to  them  with  altered 
feelings.  Two  years  ago,  they  had  been  all  in  all.  Now 
he  had  human  companionships  and  friendships.  Some 
of  them,  like  that  of  the  Duke  of  Berwick,  Roger  es- 
teemed as  a  liberal  education.  He  did  not  see  Dicky 
very  often,  who  had  returned  to  studying,  and  his  cousin 
Hilary  was  no  more  at  St.  Germains.  His  cousins  of 
the  Sandhills  he  did  not  desire  to  see,  after  a  certain 
encounter  with  two  of  them  in  the  courtyard  of  the 
palace  one  autumn  evening.  There  they  were,  Giles 
and  Edward  Egremont,  reeling  about  the  courtyard,  arm 
in  arm,  roaring  drunk,  and  bawling  and  hiccuping  for 
the  King.  The  Queen  came  to  the  window,  saw  these 
two  poor  tipsy  gentlemen,  and  turned  away  sorrowfully. 
Roger,  who  was  leaning  out  of  a  window  in  the  Hall  of 
Guards,  ran  down  and  collaring  the  two  of  them,  carried 
them  off  to  the  inn,  where,  both  of  them  tumbling  into 
Roger's  bed,  they  were  soon  snoring.  By  night  they 
had  sobered  up  enough  to  appear  in  the  common  room, 

173 


The  House  of  Egremont 

where  cards  were  produced,  and  as  Dicky  had  said  of 
the  Sandhills  Egremonts  long  ago,  they  gambled  the 
shirts  off  their  backs.  They  lost  all  their  money,  and 
actually  wished  to  pledge  their  swords  and  coats,  but 
could  find  no  takers.  Roger  was  no  ascetic,  and  was 
not  above  cards  and  dice  and  a  bowl  of  good  liquor  him- 
self, as  far  as  a  gentleman  might  go  in  those  days  — 
which  was  considerably  beyond  what  the  present  day 
allows.  But  he  was  no  such  man  at  cards  and  drink  as 
his  cousins,  and  was  glad  enough  to  pack  them  off  to 
Paris,  with  all  the  money  he  could  lay  his  hands  on, 
as  an  inducement  for  them  to  go.  There  was  another 
cousin  of  his,  Anthony  Egremont,  who  was  a  gloomy, 
fanatical  man,  not  given  to  free  living,  but  almost  as 
offensive  as  his  brothers,  in  his  own  morose,  disagree- 
able way,  to  Roger.  It  was  a  misery  to  Roger  that  he 
could  not  pension  these  people  off,  and  so  get  rid  of  the 
sight  of  their  follies  and  improprieties.  He  was  a  man 
of  a  free  and  open  hand,  and  one  of  his  greatest  pleasures, 
during  the  little  while  he  had  enjoyed  his  estate,  was  to 
give  generously.  He  had  done  so,  not  only  to  Hugo 
and  to  little  Dicky,  but  to  scores  of  other  persons.  And 
how  easy  and  pleasant  it  was,  when  money  was  plenti- 
ful, and  his  giving  in  no  way  stinted  himself,  to  play 
the  prince !  He  had  given  Dicky  a  fine  bay  filly,  as 
good  a  horse  as  there  was  in  England,  but  he  had  half  a 
dozen  equally  as  good  standing  in  his  stables.  Roger 
could  not  get  over  a  certain  lordly  habit  of  mind  which 
accorded  ill  with  the  pittance  from  the  King  on  which  he 
had  to  live.  The  King's  manner  of  giving  it  was  cal- 
culated to  teach  Roger  the  vanity  of  earthly  wishes. 
He  would  be  sent  for  to  the  royal  closet  privately,  once 
a  month,  when  the  King  would  gently  put  a  little  packet 
in  his  hand,  with  some  words  of  fatherly  good- will ,;  and 

174 


The  Princess  Michelle's  Destiny 

this  poor,  unsuccessful  King  had  so  much  of  dignity  in 
his  sorrows,  so  much  of  gentleness  toward  his  enemies, 
that  Roger  would  be  overwhelmed  with  the  majestic 
picture  of  a  good  man  bearing  misfortune  nobly.  Had 
James  Stuart  been  half  the  king  in  England  he  was  in 
France,  he  might  have  kept  his  throne,  and  not  a  tithe 
of  the  people  who  followed  him  into  poverty  and  exile, 
and  remained  with  him,  would  have  followed  his  succes- 
sors under  the  same  circumstances. 

Whenever  Roger  Egremont  went  abroad,  it  was  with 
the  hope  of  meeting  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia.  His  eyes, 
as  keen  as  they  were  bright,  kept  a  continual  lookout  for 
her.  Sometimes  he  met  her  at  the  chateau  ;  occasionally 
he  went  to  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  rare  routs,  and  each 
one  of  these  meetings  was  a  distinct  epoch  to  Roger 
Egremont. 

Oftenest  they  met  walking  upon  the  terrace  in  the 
afternoon,  with  great  crowds  of  people  sunning  them- 
selves in  the  mild  autumn  light,  and  looking  down 
upon  the  meadows,  green  even  at  the  fall  of  the  leaf. 
Michelle  would  on  those  occasions,  generally  be  walk- 
ing with  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  who  never  failed  to 
snatch  Roger,  and  who  paid  him  the  highest  compliment 
she  could  command,  by  saying,  — 

"He's  the  most  delicious,  impudent  fellow  I  have 
seen  since  Charles  the  Second's  time.  Francois,  do  you 
model  yourself  upon  this  young  man,  and  you  will  be  a 
man  of  spirit  yet." 

Roger  always  fell  an  easy  prey  to  the  old  lady  at 
these  times,  for  the  sake  of  a  word  with  Michelle.  He 
would  drop  behind  and  say  to  her,  — 

"  How  sweet  are  the  meadows  to-day,  mademoiselle. 
There  is  good  grass  there  now,  both  for  horses  and 
cattle." 

175 


The  House  of  Egremont 

At  this,  Michelle  would  smile,  —  a  lovely  smile  that 
began  in  her  eyes  and  ended  on  her  lips,  showing  a  faint, 
elusive  dimple  in  her  creamy  cheek,  not  like  the  dimples 
in  Bess  Lukens's  rosy  face.  Roger's  conversation  about 
grass  for  man  and  beast  was  certainly  unlike  that  of 
most  gentlemen  who  live  at  court.  Yet  was  he  so  far 
from  a  rustic  that  he  knew  more  of  books  than  any  man 
at  St,  Germains.  Michelle  was  wise  enough  to  see  that 
nothing  escaped  Roger  Egremont's  watchful  eye,  — 
neither  the  growth  of  the  grass  in  the  meadow  nor  the 
politics  of  Europe.  Their  conversation  always  drifted 
to  books,  and  they  had  a  standing  quarrel  as  to  the  rela- 
tive merits  of  Shakespeare  and  Moli5re. 

"  But  your  Moli^re  was  a  thief ;  he  stole  from  Terence, 
from  Plautus,  from  almost  every  one  of  the  Roman 
dramatists,"  Roger  would  say,  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  to 
Michelle. 

"  As  for  your  mighty  Shakespeare,"  that  young  lady 
would  cry  scornfully,  "  he  stole  from  the  whole  world. 
I  myself  have  read  stories  writ  long  before  he  was  bom, 
out  of  which  I  am  certain  he  made  his  plays !  " 

Once,  in  one  of  these  pleasant  wrangles,  as  they 
leaned  over  the  parapet  of  the  terrace,  on  a  cold,  bright 
December  afternoon,  Roger  poured  out  to  her  the  story 
of  his  life  at  Newgate,  and  how  ignorant  he  was  when 
he  went  into  that  gloomy  place.  They  were  as  much 
alone  as  if  they  had  been  in  the  depths  of  the  forest, 
although  all  about  them  were  crowds  of  people.  The 
King  of  France  with  his  great  suite  was  on  the  terrace 
that  day,  gravely  promenading  with  the  Queen  of  Eng- 
land, and  a  mob  of  well  dressed  persons  followed  them. 

Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  with  her  coach  drawn  up  at 
the  end  of  the  terrace,  sat  within  it  muffled  in  furs.  The 
coach  door  was  open,  and  ladies  and  gentlemen  stopped 

176 


The  Princess  Michelle's  Destiny 

and  spoke  to  her,  and  lingered  to  hear  Francois  read 
aloud  some  very  profane  verses,  which  caused  the 
poor  young  man  to  shudder  visibly/  But  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir  would  by  no  means  let  him  off,  and  she 
cackled  with  delight  at  his  sufferings.  Michelle,  who 
did  not  care  for  the  class  of  literature  which  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir  affected,  spying  Roger  strolling  along  alone, 
shot  him  a  glance  that  brought  him  instantly  to  her  side. 
She  would  walk  about  a  little,  she  said,  if  Mr.  Egre- 
mont  would  escort  her.  Mr.  Egremont,  coloring  very 
deeply  with  pleasure,  handed  her  out  of  the  coach.  Pres- 
ently they  were  leaning  together  over  the  iron  railings, 
and  looking  down  upon  the  river,  that  glittered  like 
steel  in  the  bright  December  afternoon. 

As  usual,  they  fell  upon  books,  not  the  wild  romances 
upon  which  the  court  ladies  fed,  but  something  quite 
different.  And  then,  won  by  the  sympathy  in  her  dark 
eyes,  Roger  poured  out  his  tale,  how  he  could  scarcely 
read  and  write  when  he  went  to  Newgate. 

"And,"  he  said,  looking  down  like  a  school-boy 
under  her  clear  gaze,  "at  first,  for  a  time,  I  made  a 
beast  of  myself  with  drink  and  gambling  and  low  com- 
pany,—  far  worse  than  my  cousins,  the  Egremonts  of  the 
Sandhills  have  done  here.  You  know,  mademoiselle, 
they  are  reprobates." 

"  I  thought,  Mr.  Egremont,  you  would  let  none  abuse 
your  relations,"  said  Michelle,  smiling. 

'*  None  but  myself,  mademoiselle,  at  all  events.  I 
will  say  this  for  myself  —  that  as  long  as  I  was  free 
and  could  live  like  a  gentleman,  I  behaved  myself  as 
such.  'T  was  nothing  but  the  agony  of  my  untrained 
mind  —  the  fears  and  miseries  of  an  ignorant,  unlettered 
man  —  which  drove  me  to  evil  ways  in  Newgate  prison. 
From  them,  books,  under  God's  grace,  rescued  me. 
12  177 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Why  should  I  not  love  books  and  be  forever  grateful 
to  them?" 

When  next  they  met,  it  was  at  an  evening  levee  in 
the  grand  saloon  at  the  chateau  at  Christmas  time.  The 
poor  exiles  tried  to  make  an  English  Christmas,  as  far 
as  they  could.  Not  even  evergreens  were  cheap  in 
France,  —  where  all  growing  wood  is  dear,  —  but  they 
managed  to  have  some  holly  and  cedar  to  trim  the 
saloon  with,  and  a  great  Yule  log  in  the  fireplace,  and 
a  bowl  of  good  liquor  flowing.  There  were  healths  pro- 
posed by  the  King  and  Queen,  and  Berwick  gave  the 
health  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  the  little  lad  standing 
upon  the  table  and  clapping  his  tiny  hands  with  plea- 
sure ;  and  afterwards  there  was  dancing  to  a  couple 
of  fiddles,  and  Roger  had  the  heavenly  bliss  of  leading 
Michelle  out  and  dancing  with  her.  Then,  after  the 
dance  was  over,  and  Roger  had  paid  her  the  compliment 
always  observed  at  St.  Germains,  —  "I  hope,  madam,  I 
shall  have  the  pleasure  of  dancing  with  you  one  day 
before  his  Majesty  at  the  palace  of  Whitehall,"  —  they 
stood  together  in  one  of  the  deep  windows,  and  looked 
out  upon  the  gardens  and  terrace  and  meadows  bathed 
in  the  white  radiance  of  the  December  moon.  And 
Michelle,  who  seemed  determined  to  know  all  about 
Roger's  past,  said, — 

"  Is  this  anything  like  your  English  home  ?  " 
That  was  enough ;  Roger  poured  out  his  story  of 
Egremont,  the  place  he  loved  so  well,  and  then  in- 
evitably, he  told  of  Hugo.  Roger  Egremont,  although 
gifted  with  that  natural  eloquence  which  made  men 
and  women  listen  to  him  closely  when  he  talked,  was 
yet  not  one  of  those  talkers  whose  tongue  is  tied  to 
no  ear  but  his  own.  He  was  keen  enough  to  see  that 
the  Princess  was  deeply  interested  in  what  he  had  to 

178 


The  Princess  Michelle's  Destiny- 
say.  In  truth,  she  was  more ;  she  observed  that  he 
had  a  good  and  graceful  air  in  speaking,  that  he  used 
gestures  sparingly,  but  at  the  right  time,  that  his  voice, 
although  soft,  as  became  a  gentleman,  was  rich  and 
had  a  ring  in  it,  and  that  his  eyes  were  full  of  fire,  — 
in  short,  all  those  little  points  which  a  woman  notes 
in  a  man  who  pleases  her;  and  then,  when  Roger 
stopped,  with  a  delicious  feeling  of  having  made  head- 
way in  her  regard,  she  suddenly  asked  him  the  most 
disconcerting,  appalling,  uncomfortable,  awkward,  and 
embarrassing  question  of  his  whole  life.  Also,  it  was 
a  question  upon  which  Michelle  had  very  accurate,  al- 
though not  very  complete  knowledge,  and  her  question 
was  directly  inspired  by  the  devil. 

"  And  when  and  where,  Mr.  Egremont,  did  you  make 
the  acquaintance  of  that  beautiful  young  woman,  Miss 
Lukens,  whom,  I  understand,  you  have  befriended,  and 
who  is  studying  to  sing  in  the  King's  Opera?" 

No  dog  marked  for  hanging  ever  had  a  more  shame- 
faced look  than  Roger  Egremont  at  these  words.  Had 
he  been  the  damnablest  of  villains,  he  could  not  have 
appeared  more  of  a  poltroon.  In  truth  had  he  been  a 
villain,  he  would  have  shown  a  brazen  assurance.  In- 
stead of  which,  he  turned  very  red,  shuffled  his  feet  on 
the  floor,  looked  wildly  and  foolishly  about  him,  and 
in  short,  made  the  poorest  possible  figure  that  a  man 
of  sense  could.  Only  one  thing  was  clear  to  him  — 
that  Michelle  must  be  well  assured  that  his  relations 
with  Bess  Lukens  were  altogether  innocent,  else  she 
would  never  have  mentioned  her  name  to  him ;  but 
that  only  opened  the  way  to  the  dreadful  thought  that 
Michelle  might  think  him  capable  of  marrying  Bess. 
And  he  could  by  no  means  reveal  poor  Bess's  secret, 
that  she  was  the  gaoler's  girl  —  and  in  short,  was  ever 

179 


The  House  of  Egremont 

a  gentleman  more  miserably  placed  by  a  single  in- 
discreet question  of  the  lady  of  his  heart  ?  He  could 
only  manage  to  stammer,  "I  —  I  —  knew  Miss  Lukens 
first  in  Newgate  prison ; "  and  then,  seeing  a  look  of 
astonishment  in  Michelle's  black  eyes,  a  lie  which  was 
half  a  truth,  and  served  the  purpose  of  a  truth  came 
to  him,  like  an  inspiration  from  heaven. 

"  Her  uncle  was  in  the  prison,"  he  said  boldly. 
"  'T  was  through  him  I  first  met  her.  She  is  the  hon- 
estest  girl  alive,  and  the  least  likely  to  grow  above  her 
station."  At  which  the  Princess  very  calmly,  and 
with  intent  to  torture  him,  told  the  story  of  Bess  and 
the  coach  and  Madame  de  Beaumanoir, — told  it  so 
archly  that  the  wretched  Roger  was  forced  to  laugh. 

"And  I  think,"  added  the  Princess,  with  sudden 
haughtiness,  "she  showed  a  very  great  disposition  to 
forget  her  station  on  that  occasion  —  not  but  that  she 
had  much  provocation,"  she  added,  remembering  the 
Duchess's  behavior  on  that  day. 

When  Roger  laid  himself  down  at  cockcrow  on  his 
bed  in  the  garret  at  Madame  Michot's,  he  could  not 
but  admit  that  the  evening  had  not  been  on  the  whole 
bad  for  him;  and  then  the  thought  came  to  him,  as 
it  often  did,  that  were  he  again  master  of  Egremont, 
with  King  James  come  back  to  his  own,  the  family  of 
this  young  lady  —  this  penniless,  landless  Princess  — 
would  not  reckon  him  a  match  for  her;  and  turning 
and  swearing  in  his  bed,  and  biting  the  bedclothes  in 
his  helpless  rage,  he  at  last  fell  into  sleep,  to  dream  of 
Michelle. 

The  next  time  they  spoke  together  was  near  a  month 
afterward.  Roger  had  ridden  forth  on  Merrylegs,  of 
a  chill  and  misty  January  afternoon.  He  did  not  take 
the   road   to    Paris,   nor  yet  those    beautifully   paved 

180 


The  Princcs*s  Michelle's  Destiny 

highways  between  St.  Germains  and  Versailles  and 
Marly,  where  the  equipages  of  the  King  of  France 
were  continually  rolling,  and  royal  messengers  booted 
and  spurred  were  riding  hot  upon  some  important 
errand,  concerning  a  siege  or  a  ballet,  and  ladies  in 
their  coaches  lumbered  along,  and  beggars  swarmed. 
Rather  took  he  the  road  toward  Verne  uil,  which  led 
through  a  wooded  country,  and  was  quiet  and  little 
frequented. 

He  felt  downcast  on  that  afternoon.  Berwick  had 
given  him  a  hint  that  it  might  be  necessary  to  disband 
the  corps  of  gentlemen-at-arms.  The  French  people 
were  not  over  pleased  at  the  spectacle  of  a  body  of 
troops  in  France,  organized  under  the  flag  of  England 
—  and  besides,  the  poor  King  had  no  money  to  pay 
them.  But  they  would  be  permitted  to  keep  their 
organization  as  a  company  of  private  soldiers,  and  fight 
for  King  Louis,  if  so  it  pleased  them.  The  thought  of 
fighting  was  by  no  means  displeasing  to  Roger  Egre- 
mont,  even  should  he  fight  with  a  pike  or  a  halberd  in 
his  hand  instead  of  a  sword  ;  but  it  showed  to  him  what 
he  earnestly  tried  to  shut  his  eyes  to,  —  how  far,  far  off 
was  that  return  to  England,  and  how  long  must  Hugo 
Stein,  the  bastard,  keep  warm  the  place  of  a  better  man. 

Turning  these  sad  thoughts  over  in  his  mind,  Roger 
trotted  along  on  Merrylegs,  —  a  good  horse,  but  one 
which  Roger  would  have  mounted  his  groom  upon  at 
Egremont,  he  thought,  no  horse  being  ever  so  good  as 
those  he  bred  himself  upon  his  own  land.  The  high- 
road was  deserted,  except  for  a  solitary  cart  once  in  a 
while,  and  a  jolly  beggar  or  two,  making  haste  toward 
that  beggar's  paradise  —  Paris.  But  Roger  wished  to 
be  more  solitary  yet,  and  when  some  miles  from  St. 
Germains  turned  into  a  by-road  that  led  through  de- 

181 


The  House  of  Egremont 

serted  fields  and  melancholy  woods.  It  was  growing 
toward  dusk,  and  a  warm  mist  was  rising  and  making 
the  cloudy  afternoon  yet  darker.  Presently,  Merrylegs, 
having  his  own  sweet  will,  the  reins  lying  idly  on  his 
neck  while  his  master  mused,  turned  into  a  road  little 
used,  and  bordered  by  sombre  poplars,  gaunt  and  bare. 
The  way  led  up  to  rising  ground,  with  a  little  hill  at 
the  top,  where  the  poplars  ended  and  scattered  pines 
and  cedars  grew  dismally.  Roger  raised  his  eyes  and 
surveyed  the  dull  and  misty  landscape  before  him,  — 
so  lonely,  so  deserted,  a  few  peasants'  huts  in  the  dis- 
tance being  the  only  thing  that  indicated  human  habi- 
tation, —  and  silhouetted  against  the  dun  sky  on  the 
hill-top  was  a  figure  on  horseback ;  he  recognized 
instantly  that  graceful  head,  with  a  hat  and  feathers, 
the  slight  figure  sitting  erect,  yet  easily.  It  was  Mi- 
chelle —  but  what  was  she  doing  so  far  away  from  home 
and  alone  ?  Roger  rode  rapidly  forward,  and  as  the 
hoofs  of  Merrylegs  were  heard  nearing  her,  the  Princess 
turned  her  head  and  recognized  the  new-comer. 

Something  in  her  face  ever  told  Roger,  on  their  meet- 
ing, that  the  sight  of  him  was  not  displeasing  to  her. 
To-day,  she  smiled  and  opened  her  eyes  wider,  like  a 
person  roused  from  sleep,  when  Roger  spoke. 

"May  I  ask,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "why  you  are 
in  this  desert  place,  so  far  from  home?" 

"  By  rare  good  fortune,"  she  said  pleasantly,  "  I  rode 
afar  with  my  cousin  Francois.  His  horse  cast  a  shoe 
about  a  mile  away,  and  he  stopped  at  a  peasant's  cot- 
tage, where  he  found  a  man  able  to  do  some  rude  smith's- 
work,  and  I  came  on  here,  promising  to  rejoin  him. 
It  is  good  to  be  away  from  the  crowds  of  people  one 
encounters  in  everj'-  by-path  between  Versailles,  Marly, 
and  St.  Germains." 

182 


The  Princess  Michelle's  Destiny 

"  If  I  am  in  your  way  —  "  began  Roger,  haughtily. 

"  Not  in  the  least.  You,  of  all  the  men  at  St.  Ger- 
mains,  can  best  understand  me.  I  sat  here  looking  at 
those  poor  huts  in  the  distance.  I  suppose  that  is 
where  the  people  dwell  who  hoot  the  King's  coach  in 
the  darkness,  when  it  passes  along  the  highway  at 
night.  Those  people  have  injuries  ;  yet,  what  are  they, 
and  who  can  mend  them  ?  " 

"I  can  tell  you  their  injuries  very  quickly,  made- 
moiselle, but  I  cannot  tell  you  how  to  mend  them.  They 
must  be  mended  though  some  time.  Think  you  those 
men,  with  stout  legs  and  strong  arms,  will  continue  to 
labor  forever,  and  to  see  the  fruit  of  their  toil  go 
in  great  wildernesses  of  marble  and  bronze,  like  Ver- 
sailles, with  heaps  of  jewels,  and  thousands  of  pictures 
and  statues  and  coaches  and  horses, —  and  all  for  a  few? 
No ;  let  these  rustics  but  once  find  out  how  strong  they 
are,  and  you  will  see  great  changes." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  our  King,  the  great  Louis  —  " 
Michelle  stopped,  offended,  but  not  knowing  how  to 
go  on. 

"  I  say  nothing,  mademoiselle,  of  your  King,  the 
great  Louis,  except  that  he  is  not  only  the  most  gener- 
ous king,  but  the  most  generous  man  who  ever  lived, 
to  those  in  misfortune ;  and  every  man  of  us  at  St.  Ger- 
mains  —  English,  Scotch,  and  Irish — would  shed  the  last 
drop  of  our  blood  for  him,  for  his  kindness  to  our  mas- 
ter. But  I  see  that  kings  and  people  know  little  of 
each  other.  Our  English  people  knew  little  of  King 
James,  or  they  would  not  have  turned  him  out,  and 
less  of  King  William,  or  they  would  not  have  put  him 
in.  If  I  were  a  king,  I  should  be  like  your  great  Henry, 
—  I  should  wish  that  every  peasant  had  a  fowl  in  his  pot 
on  Sunday.    There  spoke  a  great  king,  nay  more,  a  great 

183 


The  House  of  Egremont 

man,  for  he  saw  the  peasant's  rude  power,  and  would 
stop  his  mouth  with  a  delicate  fowl." 

Michelle  sat  musing,  lier  chin  in  her  hands.  The  two 
horses  rubbed  noses,  and  stamped  lightly  on  the  soft, 
damp  earth.  The  mist  was  rising  and  enveloping  the 
lonely  landscape. 

"  Yet,  after  all,  the  peasant's  lot  is  not  different  from 
that  of  all  humanity." 

"  I  remember,  mademoiselle,  the  very  first  time  I 
spoke  to  you.  You  told  me  there  were  only  three  great 
true  things,  —  work,  pain,  and  death.  We  cannot  help 
death,  but  we  can  help  work  and  pain." 

"I  do  not  think  so,"  she  said,  gently;  "but  that  by 
no  means  releases  us  from  doing  our  duty.  Nay,  it  only 
compels  us  the  more.  And  when  we  have  found  what 
is  our  duty,  —  which  is  not  always  easy,  —  we  should  go 
to  meet  it  cheerfully,  as  if  it  were  a  friend.  I  think  I 
have  found  mine.  Yesterday  the  King  sent  for  me  to 
Marly.  He  told  me  something  I  might  do  for  my  coun- 
try, for  him.  It  involved  great  pain  and  loss  and  disap- 
pointment to  me ;  but  why  should  we  not  go  half-way 
to  meet  pain,  since  it  searches  us  out  and  finds  us  no 
matter  where  we  hide,  —  whether  it  be  in  solitude,  or 
in  the  midst  of  the  greatest  court  of  the  greatest  king 
in  the  world?  So  I  accepted  my  portion,  and  will  live 
with  it  cheerfully,  as  if  it  were  pleasure." 

What  did  she  mean  ?  Roger's  natural  curiosity  made 
him  long  to  know,  but  natural  courtesy  restrained  him. 
One  thing  he  had  noticed  ever  since  he  had  been  in 
France,  and  had  seen  French  people  at  close  quarters : 
they  had  different  ideas  of  patriotism,  chivalry,  and 
duty  from  those  he  had  been  bred  upon.  Where  he 
loved  his  home  and  his  country,  they  loved  their  king ; 
where  he  revered  the  laws,  they  revered  their  sovereign. 

184 


The  Princess  Michelle's  Destiny- 
He  was  always  coming  upon  some  strange  anomaly  — 
for  so  it  seemed  to  this  untravelled  gentleman  —  in 
them.  Yet  Michelle  was  only  half  French,  and  the 
lesser  half,  it  seemed  to  him.  She  had  not  the  vanity 
of  a  Frenchwoman,  who  is  coquettish  even  as  a  wit ; 
she  was  freer  than  any  woman  he  knew  of  a  desire  to 
shine  ;  she  was  quite  satisfied  to  be,  instead  of  to  do. 

"  I  hope,"  he  said,  diffidently,  "  that  this  duty  of 
yours  will  not  take  you  away  from  us  ?  Not  that  our 
sojourn  here  is  fixed,  —  we  all  yearn  unspeakably  for 
the  day  when  we  shall  once  more  venture  our  carcasses 
against  the  Prince  of  Orange,  —  but  while  we  stay  —  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Michelle ;  "  it  will  take  me  away, 
a  long  journey,  and  I  know  not  what  I  shall  find  at  the 
end.  But  I  am  master  of  my  soul,  and  nothing  shall 
daunt  me." 

The  moon,  a  slender  silver  bow,  suddenly  appeared  in 
the  eastern  sky,  the  clouds  melting  away  on  the  horizon, 
and  the  mist  stealing  off  magically.  There  were  lights 
in  the  peasants'  huts.  All  at  once  the  scene  grew  less 
melancholy. 

"  Ah ! "  cried  Michelle,  with  a  sudden  change  in  her 
air,  a  quick  gleam  of  daring  in  her  eyes,  which  Roger 
saw  by  the  faint  moonlight,  a  laugh  upon  her  lips,  as 
she  struck  her  horse  smartly  with  the  spur  she  wore, 
"  we  are  talking  like  a  couple  of  death's  heads.  After 
all,  one  must  take  chances  in  life.  Anything  is  better 
than  the  dull  stagnation  of  mere  fine  ladies  and  gentle- 
men. We  may  learn  a  lesson  from  the  poor  players  in 
Monsieur  Molidre's  play-house  at  Paris.  Think  you 
any  one  of  them  would  refuse  a  great  part,  a  chance 
to  be  the  chief  figure  in  the  events  passing  around  them, 
from  a  paltry  fear  of  what  might  befall  in  the  acting  ? 
Certainly  they  would  not.     Ambition  must  be  a  noble 

185 


The  House  of  Egremont 

quality,  especially  when  it  is  not  for  one's  self  so  much 
as  for  one's  country.  It  makes  me  thrill  from  head  to 
foot,  Mr.  Egremont,  to  think  that  I,  a  mere  woman,  can 
serve  my  King  and  France." 

She  had  gathered  up  the  reins  as  she  gave  her  horse 
the  spur,  and  she  was  now  going  down  the  hill  at  a 
breakneck  speed.  Something  in  the  recklessness  of 
her  manner  of  speaking,  and  the  way  she  urged  her 
horse  on  gave  Roger  a  strange  and  poignant  feeling 
that  she  was  not  so  happy  in  the  prospect  of  that  long 
journey  and  absence  from  France  at  the  King's  desire. 
But  all  he  said  was,  as  they  sped  onward  through  the 
mysterious  twilight,  — 

"  Whereever  you  go,  mademoiselle,  be  it  near  or  far, 
be  it  for  long  or  for  little,  you  take  with  you  the  ever- 
lasting regard  of  Roger  Egremont." 

She  turned  her  face  away  from  him  as  he  spoke,  and 
had  he  not  at  that  very  moment  caught  her  horse  by  the 
bit,  and  almost  thrown  him  upon  his  haunches,  Michelle 
would  have  been  in  a  ditch  which  yawned  before  them, 
and  of  which  the  bridge  was  gone.  She  was  an  accom- 
plished horsewoman,  and  quickly  recovered  herself; 
but  her  narrow  escape  from  accident  did  not  make  her 
prudent.  Rather  did  she  ride  faster  and  more  reck- 
lessly. Roger  determined  that  Merrylegs  should  keep 
up  with  her,  if  he  had  to  buy  another  horse  the  next 
day.  They  passed,  at  a  sweeping  gallop,  the  cottage 
where  Francois's  horse  was  standing.  The  poor  youth 
was  just  putting  his  foot  into  the  stirrup,  and  he  had 
hard  work  to  catch  up  with  them,  so  hard  were  they 
riding. 

"  We  shall  find  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  much  dis- 
pleased with  us,"  he  cried,  panting,  as  he  followed  after 
them,  belaboring  his  poor  beast. 

186 


The  Princess  Michelle's  Destiny 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Michelle,  turning  her  head,  and  let- 
ting her  horse  follow  his  own  lead,  except  for  a  restrain- 
ing hand  laid  upon  her  bridle  by  Roger.  "  Tell  her  that 
you  were  drinking  at  a  wayside  tavern,  or  studying 
some  ribald  verses  of  Villon,  or  any  other  form  of  —  of 
—  gayety,  and  she  will  forgive  you." 

It  seemed  as  if  the  recklessness  in  Roger's  blood  had 

communicated  itself  to  Michelle.      Never  before   had 

Roger  seen  her  so  full  of  wild  spirits.     Their  horses 

kept  up  a  rattling  pace,  and,  good  rider  though  she  was, 

she  would  have  come  to  grief  more  than  once,  but  for 

Roger's  watchful  eyes  and  ever-ready  hand.   When  they 

slackened  their  pace  a  little,  to  blow  their  horses,  she 

laughed  and  talked  with  a  heedless  gayety  quite  new  in 

her,  and  even  sang  the  song  that  Dicky  Egremont  liked 

so  much,  about 

"  Amis,  passons-le  gaiment!  " 

"  Poor  Francois,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  he  and  I 
should  exchange  identities.  I  should  be  the  man.  I 
love  to  ride  thus,  far  and  fast  by  night ;  I  fear  nothing," 

"  Because  nothing  has  ever  befallen  you,  mademoi- 
selle," answered  Roger,  "  'T  would  make  me  very  un- 
happy to  know  that  you  rode  thus  alone  by  night.  No 
road  is  safe  after  dark.  The  beggars  by  day  are  foot- 
pads by  night." 

"  Well,  then,  if  they  stopped  me,  I  should  tell  them 
plainly  that  I  carried  neither  money  nor  valuables  with 
me  when  I  rode." 

"  But  they  might  take  your  horse — " 

"  Let  them  try." 

"  And  insult  you  —  " 

"  I  should  talk  to  them  so  that  they  would  be  en- 
chanted. For,  look  you,  like  yourself,  I  believe  the 
vulgar  have  souls." 

187 


The  House  of  Egremont 

It  was  eight  o'clock  at  night  before  they  parted  at  a 
turning  in  the  forest,  Michelle  going  with  Fran9ois  to 
the  chateau,  and  Roger  to  the  castle. 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Egremont,"  she  said,  catching  his 
hand  in  her  little  one,  and  holding  it  fast,  "  I  shall  not 
forget  this  ride." 

"  Nor  shall  I,  as  long  as  I  live,"  replied  Roger,  in  a 
tone  that  spoke  all  he  felt,  and  Franqois  coming  up  then, 
they  cried  out,  "  Adieu,"  gayly,  and  Merrylegs's  hoofs 
were  soon  clattering  over  the  stony  streets  of  St. 
Germains. 

Roger  threw  his  bridle  to  the  groom  waiting  at  the 
entrance  to  the  castle,  and  swaggered  into  the  guard- 
room. He  felt  exhilarated,  excited.  Three  hours  of 
the  company  of  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia  had  acted  upon 
him  like  wine.  Berwick  was  standing  by  the  fire- 
place, in  which  the  oak  logs  blazed  redly,  —  the  gentle- 
men pensioners  of  King  James  would  do  much  for  him, 
but  they  would  not  economize  in  fuel. 

"  What  good  thing  has  befallen  you,  Mr.  Roger 
Egremont?  "  called  out  Berwick,  as  Roger  advanced  to 
the  fireplace,  holding  the  bare  blade  of  his  sword  in 
his  hand,  and  nervously  bending  it  until  the  point  and 
hilt  were  close  together. 

"  The  greatest  good  in  the  world,  —  the  free,  unre- 
strained company  of  the  charmingest  woman  on  earth 
for  three  whole  hours  ;  "  and  then,  seeing  laughter  and 
misunderstanding  in  the  faces  of  those  about  him,  he 
turned  a  scowling  front  toward  them,  and  said  in  a 
loud  voice,  — 

"  I  met  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia  out  riding,  and  came 
home  in  her  company." 

At  which  there  was  an  instant  change.  No  one  spoke 
or  thought  lightly  of  the  Princess  Michelle. 

188 


The  Princess  Michelle's  Destiny 

It  was  supper  time,  and  the  gentlemen  of  the  King's 
guard  had  a  very  jolly  mess-room  adjoining  the  Hall  of 
Guards.  But  Roger  was  in  no  mood  for  the  company 
of  the  gentlemen  who  had  just  laughed  at  him,  and  was 
pleased  when  Berwick  said  to  him,  — 

"  Come,  go  with  me  to  the  inn,  where  we  can  have 
supper.     I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

Roger,  again  putting  on  his  cloak  and  hat,  went  forth 
into  the  night.  When  they  had  traversed  the  terrace, 
and  were  going  down  the  hillside  toward  Madame 
Michot's,   Berwick  spoke. 

"You  have  a  fine  taste  for  adventure,  my  game- 
chick  ;  so  let  me  tell  you  where  I  have  spoken  a  good 
word  for  you.  To-day  the  King  sent  for  me,  and  told 
me  that  the  King  of  France  wanted  my  services  upon  a 
journey ;  and  the  King  wished  me  to  oblige  his  French 
Majesty.  I  went  at  once  to  Marly,  where  I  was  intro- 
duced into  the  King's  cabinet,  or,  rather,  into  Madame 
de  Maintenon's  cabinet  —  devil  take  the  old  woman. 
There  she  sat,  with  her  everlasting  embroidery,  listen- 
ing, listening,  listening,  —  that  woman  has  made  her 
fortune  by  listening.  And  the  journey  is  this,  —  to 
accompany  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  and  Mademoiselle 
the  Princess  d'Orantia,  to  the  principality  of  Orla- 
munde  on  the  Rhine.  They  go  there  for  a  purpose  con- 
nected with  the  alliance  between  France  and  Bavaria. 
I  am  unable  to  tell  you  more  at  present." 

"  Mademoiselle  is  the  King's  ambassador,"  cried  Roger. 
"  I  know  he  thinks  highly  of  her  abilities." 

"  You  have  it,"  dryly  answered  Berwick.  "  But  it 
would  never  do  to  have  it  known  how  or  why  she  goes 
until  she  is  there.  Instantly  our  friend  the  Prince  of 
Orange,  and  all  the  Dutchmen  in  Holland  would  be  on  the 
alert  to  circumvent  her.    Now,  you  must  know,  although 

189 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Orlamunde  is  but  a  little  principality,  yet  there  are  to 
be  found  two  admirable  and  easily  defended  places  on  its 
territory  for  crossing  the  Rhine.  What  the  King  wishes, 
and  what  the  Elector  Palatine  wants,  is  to  have  those 
places  secretly  fortified ;  and  this  we  cannot  do  without 
the  consent  of  the  Prince.  Now,  this  is  worth  a  journey 
there,  and  by  two  ladies,  escorted  by  their  own  ser- 
vants, and  with  their  kinsman,  Francois  Delaunay, 
would  occasion  no  remark,  especially  as  there  is  some 
sort  of  relationship  between  Madame  de  Beaumanoir 
and  the  princes  of  Orlamunde.  I  am  not  supposed  to 
be  going  with  them.  Oh,  no !  I  go  only  to  the  frontier 
upon  military  business  ;  once  there,  I  go  where  I  like. 
The  King  wants  a  soldier  to  explain  to  the  Prince  what 
must  be  done  at  those  places  on  the  Rhine.  I  told 
his  Majesty  I  would  go,  and  on  his  asking  me  what 
company  I  would  take,  I  asked  for  you." 

Roger  remained  silent,  too  dazed,  too  enraptured  to 
speak.  To  make  a  long  journey  in  company  with 
Michelle  —  that  was  all  his  charmed  fancy  could  under- 
stand. He  was  roused  from  his  dream  in  Paradise  by 
Berwick  continuing, — 

"  I  had  another  reason  for  this.  The  gentlemen-at- 
arms  must  be  dismissed;  so  our  King  told  me  this 
day,  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  They  will  keep  their 
organization,  and  fight  in  the  next  campaign  as  private 
soldiers,  so  that  you  will  have  a  chance  to  see  fighting. 
But,  my  poor  Roger,  I  know  that  your  purse  is  ill  lined ; 
and  this  journey  into  Orlamunde  will  give  you  some- 
thing wherewith  to  keep  out  the  cold  until  you  come 
into  your  own  again." 

"  My  Lord  Duke,"  said  Roger,  grasping  his  friend's 
hand  in  the  darkness,  "  I  think  j^ou  the  traest,  most 
generous  friend  that  ever  lived.     I  will  go  with  you  to 

190 


The  Princess  Michelle's  Destiny 

Orlamunde ;  and,  after  that,  I  will  face  the  devil  himself, 
if  only  in  your  company,  for  I  am  assured  you  fear  him 
not!" 

At  the  inn  of  Michot,  the  news  had  got  abroad  of  the 
disbandment  of  the  gentlemen-at-arms.  It  meant  beg- 
gary to  most  of  them  ;  yet  they  met  it  as  men  of  courage 
and  adventure  meet  misfortune,  boldly  grasping  it  by 
the  hand,  as  if  it  were  an  old  acquaintance,  and  toasting 
it  with  drink  and  song.  Afar  off,  as  Berwick  and 
Roger  traversed  the  way  down  to  the  valley,  they  could 
hear  a  roaring  chorus,  and  the  thumping  of  tankards 
upon  the  table  in  the  common  room,  from  whose  win- 
dows the  red  light  gleamed.  Since  they  could  not 
fight  the  Whigs,  they  could  at  least  abuse  them,  and 
shout  in  chorus  their  favorite  song,  — 

"  Ye  Whigs  are  a  rebellious  lot, 

The  plague  of  our  poor  nation  ; 
Ye  give  not  God  or  Caesar  due, 

You  smell  of  reprobation. 
Your  Hogan  Mogan  foreign  things, 

God  gave  them  in  displeasure  ; 
You  've  brought  them  o'er  and  made  them  Kings, 

They  've  drained  our  blood  and  treasure." 

By  the  time  Roger  and  Berwick  had  reached  the 
doorway,  the  tune  had  changed.  This  time  it  was  in 
honor  of  the  poor  King  who  could  no  longer  give  them 
their  meagre  pay. 

"  For  I  love,  from  my  soul,  a  friend  and  a  bowl, 
So  here  goes  a  health  to  our  King,  brave  boys ; 
Here  's  a  health  to  our  King, 
Let  every  true  man  sing. 
Long  live  our  noble  King  1 " 

Several  Scotch  gentlemen  among  the  brave  boys  were 
very  drunk,  and  an  Irishman  and  a  Yorkshireman  were 

191 


The  House  of  Egremont 

rapidly  coming  to  fisticuffs  when  Berwick  appeared. 
Respect  ever  followed  his  entrance ;  the  acknowledged 
son  of  their  King,  although  a  bastard,  was  so  worthy  in 
himself  that  none  failed  to  do  him  honor.  The  two 
gentlemen  who  were  disputing  shook  hands,  wept 
maudlin  tears,  and  each  called  himself  a  villain  for 
quarrelling  with  the  other.  The  Scotch  gentlemen 
quieted  down.  The  company  became  not  less  merry, 
but  more  orderly ;  Berwick  was  no  killjoy.  They  made 
a  night  of  it ;  poor  human  nature  requires  some  solace, 
and  these  unfortunate  gentlemen  had  but  little.  Roger 
Egremont  did  not  reach  his  garret  until  two  o'clock. 
He  stood  looking  out  upon  the  quiet  stars  before  he 
threw  himself  into  his  bed.  He  began  to  think  he 
should  never  see  Egremont  again,  and  it  tortured  him ; 
and  then  he  thought  of  the  journey  with  Michelle,  and 
his  pain  was  turned  to  a  joy  so  keen,  so  penetrating,  so 
agitating,  that  it  was  more  painful  than  pain  itself. 


192 


CHAPTER  IX 

"I  WISH  YOU  TO   COME   WITH  ME " 

NEVER  was  there  a  man  born  who  loved  better  to 
be  revenged  on  his  enemies  than  Roger  Egre- 
mont.  He  was  so  constituted  that  he  could  not  feel 
forgiveness  for  an  enemy  until  he  had  that  enemy 
under  his  heel,  which  is  not  forgiveness  at  all.  There- 
fore, when  a  few  nights  after  Berwick  had  told  him  of 
the  necessary  disbandment  of  the  corps,  Roger  tasted 
exquisite  joy  on  being  selected  to  compose  a  letter  meant 
for  William  of  Orange,  and  likely  to  give  him  a  bad 
quarter  of  an  hour. 

The  determination  of  the  corps  of  gentlemen-at-arms  to 
enlist  as  a  company  of  private  soldiers  in  the  army  of  the 
King  of  France  had  been  speedily  conveyed  to  London, 
where  everything  that  happened  at  St.  Germains  was 
known  as  fast  as  horses'  legs  and  the  winds  of  heaven 
could  carry  it.  The  news  of  this  determination  made  a 
profound  and  painful  impression  in  England.  The  spec- 
tacle of  the  best  blood  of  the  three  kingdoms  serving  in 
the  mean  capacity  of  common  foot-soldiers  in  a  foreign 
army  was  not  calculated  to  foster  good-will  toward  the 
Dutch  Prince  who  sat  at  St.  James's,  William  of 
Orange,  one  of  the  wisest,  as  well  as  one  of  the  most 
ruthless  men  who  ever  reigned,  saw  this  was  no  time  for 
ruthlessness.  He  had  seen  himself  stripped  by  degrees 
of  the  absolute  power  he  once  owned,  his  Dutch  guards 
18  193 


The  House  of  Egremont 

sent  packing,  the  estates  he  had  so  liberally  bestowed 
upon  his  followers  taken  away  and  given  to  their  right- 
ful owners  by  act  of  parliament,  —  that  parliament  which 
had  ever  proved  too  strong  for  any  sovereign  who  defied 
it.  It  would  be  well  to  spare  the  country  the  sight  of 
English,  Irish,  and  Scotch  gentlemen  serving  in  the 
ranks,  and  so  a  cordial  invitation  was  sent  to  these 
men  to  return  to  their  country,  submit  peaceably  to  the 
existing  regime,  and  let  bygones  be  bygones. 

Roger  Egremont  and  all  the  rest  of  the  corps  almost 
loved  Dutch  William  for  giving  them  the  opportunity, 
in  reply  to  this  proposal,  to  concoct  a  letter  as  impudent 
as  they  could  make  it.  While  not  written  to  William 
of  Orange,  it  was  certain  to  be  seen  by  his  eye :  and  it 
was  not  meant  to  increase  his  self-esteem. 

Roger  Egremont,  by  reason  of  his  fair  handwriting 
and  skill  in  composition,  was  selected  to  draft  the  letter, 
—  the  same  Roger  Egremont  who  had  been  as  ignorant 
as  a  footman  of  reading  and  writing  until  Dutch  William 
put  him  in  the  way  of  getting  an  education.  Roger 
hated  this  usurping  Prince  as  a  man  of  free  and 
haughty  temper  hates  his  despoiler,  but  he  made  not  the 
mistake  of  undervaluing  the  usurper.  He  knew  that,  al- 
though William  of  Orange  was  not  troubled  with  a  con- 
science, or  with  nice  points  of  honor,  and  needs  must 
hate  the  English  people  who  had  cut  his  claws  so 
eifectively,  he  was  yet  susceptible  of  shame  at  his  offers 
of  amnesty  being  derided  and  his  promises  disbelieved. 
So  it  was  with  unction  that  Roger  read  over  the  draft 
of  his  letter,  as  he  made  his  way  one  gloomy  winter 
night  to  the  Hall  of  Guards. 

All  of  the  corps  were  assembled,  with  General  Buchan, 
their  commander,  together  with  Berwick,  the  Earl  of 
Perth,  and  Lord  Melfort  and  other  gentlemen  of  the 

194 


"I  Wish  You  to  Come  with  Me" 

King's  suite ;  and  in  the  grand  saloon  above,  a  company 
of  the  most  distinguished  of  the  exiles,  chiefly  ladies, 
had  collected  to  applaud  the  unflinching  loyalty  of  the 
corps. 

Roger  was  a  little  late  —  what  young  man,  singled 
out  for  such  an  honor  as  to  compose  the  reply  to  such 
an  offer,  would  not  have  been  late  and  would  not  have 
relished  the  shout  of  welcome  his  fellows  gave  him, 
when  he  entered,  his  paper  in  his  hand  ?  Then,  bowing 
modestly  to  the  company,  he  waited  to  be  invited  to 
read  what  he  had  written  ;  and  General  Buchan,  sitting 
at  the  head  of  the  great  table  brought  in  from  the  mess- 
room,  around  which  the  corps  sat,  motioned  Roger  to 
take  place  by  him. 

Ranged  round  the  wall  were  the  gentlemen  of  the 
suite  and  others;  and  Roger  Egremont,  standing  up, 
straight  and  graceful,  his  gray  body-coat  showing  off  his 
well  made  figure,  read  out,  in  a  clear,  ringing  voice,  the 
letter  he  thought  fittest  to  meet  the  eye  of  his  arch 
enemy,  William  of  Orange. 

"The  King  of  France  hath  been  kind  to  our  master, 
King  James,  and  we  will  fight  for  the  King  of  France  so 
long  as  we  have  a  drop  of  blood  to  spend.  And  we  may 
be  pardoned  for  hesitating  to  accept  the  offers  of  the 
Prince  of  Orange,  and  preferring  to  take  our  chances  in 
the  campaign,  remembering  the  fate  of  those  who  relied 
upon  the  promises  of  the  Prince  of  Orange.  Dundee  and 
the  clans  fought  bravely  and  died  on  the  field  of  battle. 
Glencoe  and  his  people  took  the  oaths,  became  loyal  and 
obedient  servants,  lived  peaceably  and  quietly  under  the 
established  government,  yet  they  were  inhumanly  mas- 
sacred. Now,  which  has  the  best  on  it  ?  Was  it  not  better 
for  us  to  come  to  France  and  live  sparingly  on  what  our 
master,  King  James,  could  allow  us,  and  when  he  can  no 

195 


The  House  of  Egremont 

longer  support  us,  to  go  to  the  wars,  and  fight  bravely  for 
our  master's  friend  and  ours,  King  Louis  of  France,  than 
to  accept  the  word  of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  and  be  — 
Glencoe'd  ?  " 

Roger  made  a  little  pause  before  the  last  word ;  it  was 
a  new  one,  coined  by  himself ;  and  when  he  suddenly 
roared  it  out,  —  all  the  other  insults  to  William  of 
Orange  he  had  spoken  in  a  soft  and  dulcet  voice,  —  there 
was  a  moment's  pause  of  surprised  delight  and  rapture ; 
and  then  broke  forth  a  thundering  shout  that  made  the 
ladies  in  the  saloon  above  them  jump,  and  even  startled 
King  James  reading  his  book  of  prayers  in  his  closet 
with  the  Queen, 

Roger  stood,  his  eyes  cast  down,  blushing  like  a  girl, 
while  the  applause  surged  about  him  like  a  hurricane, 
men  pounding  the  table  and  shouting,  "  Aye  —  be 
Glencoe'd  —  Glencoe'd  ;  how  the  damned  villain  will 
hate  that  word ! "  and  General  Buchan  shook  Roger's 
hand,  and  Berwick  clasped  him  in  his  arms  crying, 
"  Glencoe'd !      What  a  glorious    word !  " 

Pity  Roger  Egremont.  That  one  word,  and  the 
platter  of  beans  dashed  into  the  usurper's  face  were 
his  sole  recompense  for  a  great  estate  filched  from  him, 
three  years  in  Newgate  gaol,  and  poverty  and  exile. 

The  story  of  the  bean  platter  was  known  at  St.  Ger- 
mains,  and  when  the  echoes  of  the  first  wild  huzza  were 
dying  away,  another  one  was  started  by  General  Buchan 
dryly  remarking,  "Would  you  not  like  to  add,  Mr. 
Egremont,  that  the  memory  of  a  certain  platter  of 
beans  —  " 

He  got  no  further,  a  storm  of  shouts  and  cheers 
breaking  forth,  and  Roger  colored  higher  than  ever. 

Then  the  signature  of  every  man  of  the  corps  was 
signed  to  the  paper.  General  Buchan's  first,  followed 

196 


"I  Wish  You  to  Come  with  Me" 

by  those  of  the  officers,  and  Roger  Egremont  was  ac- 
corded the  honor  of  putting  his  name  next  those  of  the 
officers.  He  signed  himself,  with  a  great  flourish,  as 
"  Roger  Egremont  of  Egremont."  That,  too,  he  hoped 
would  be  at  least  a  pin-prick  to  his  enemy. 

The  proceedings  being  over,  every  man  went  about 
his  business,  most  of  them  to  the  grand  saloon.  Roger 
was,  of  course,  the  hero  of  the  evening.  Berwick 
took  the  King  a  copy  of  the  letter,  which  the  poor 
broken  man  read,  with  a  kind  of  dismal  pleasure, 
aloud  to  the  Queen,  whose  beautiful  eyes  flashed  with 
gratification.  When  he  entered  the  saloon,  the  King 
and  Queen  at  once  sent  for  him  to  the  top  of  the  room, 
where  they  sat  on  a  very  low  dais,  —  James  and  Mary 
Beatrice  chafed  under  the  rigid  ceremonial  imposed 
upon  them  by  French  etiquette,  and  much  preferred  to 
sit  and  stand  and  walk  about  among  their  people  as 
they  had  done  at  their  palace  of  Whitehall. 

"Mr.  Egremont,"  said  the  King,  "you  wield  not 
only  a  stout  arm,  but  a  pen  like  a  sword." 

"  And  keen  pens  are  scarcer  than  stout  arms,"  added 
Mary  Beatrice,  with  her  heavenly  smile,  at  which 
Roger  bowed  to  the  ground,  saying, — 

"  Both  my  arm  and  my  pen  belong  to  your  Majesties 
and  the  Prince  of  Wales,  as  long  as  I  have  a  drop  of 
blood  in  my  body." 

Being  dismissed  with  a  gracious  bow,  he  turned  and 
saw  the  Princess  Michelle's  soft,  glowing  eyes  fixed 
upon  him  with  a  look  which  spelled  as  plain  as  print, 
"Come  to  me." 

He  went  to  her,  and  thrilled  with  delight,  when  she 
spoke  some  words  of  enchanting  praise.  Then  Madame 
de  Beaumanoir's  shrill  voice  cleft  the  air,  and  Roger  was 
obliged  to  go  to  where  the  old  lady  sat  and  held  court 

197 


The  House  of  Egremont 

in  a   great   chair  by  the  fire,    their   Majesties  having 
left  the  saloon. 

"So  you've  made  a  great  success  with  that  impu- 
dent letter  of  yours.  Well,  I  always  thought  you 
capable  of  it,  you  rogue ! "  Then,  lowering  her  voice, 
she  continued,  "  I  know  about  you  and  Berwick  going 
to  Orlamunde  with  me  and  my  niece.  But  —  'fore 
God  !  —  "  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  occasionally  used 
language  not  unlike  Bess  Lukens's  —  "  will  you  believe 
it  ?  —  the  King  of  France  has  not  told  me  one  word  of 
what  we  are  going  for,  except  that  it  will  be  for  the 
advantage  of  my  family,  and  I  am  not  to  know  until 
the  very  day  we  start.  But  I  suspect  what  is  in  the 
wind,  and  could  give  as  good  a  guess  as  one  would 
want.  The  thing  that  nettles  me  is,  some  of  these 
fools  about  here  say  that  the  King  won't  let  me  be  told 
for  fear  I  '11  blab ;  as  if  I  had  not  always  been  re- 
nowned for  keeping  my  own  counsel !  Well,  you 
don't  know  any  more  than  I ;  but  then,  you  are  not 
Michelle's  uncle,  and  I  am  her  aunt.  Kings  and 
Queens  are  queer  things.  I  would  that  every  King  who 
reigns  were  as  brave  and  charming  as  my  own  dear 
Charles  the  Second  of  blessed  memory ! " 

It  was  a  heavenly  evening  to  Roger,  and  he  remained 
after  most  of  the  company  had  gone.  The  night  was 
cold,  and  the  fire  was  meagre ;  and,  warming  himself 
at  the  small  blaze,  he  saw  a  log  lying  inside  the  fender. 
Roger,  softly  and  slyly,  essayed  to  put  the  log  on  the 
fire,  unseen  by  Lord  Melfort,  the  comptroller  of  the 
household,  who  was  standing  near,  but  with  his  back 
turned. 

But  he  was  checked  by  the  Princess  Michelle's  voice 
at  his  elbow. 

"  Put  that  down,  Mr.  Egremont,"  said  she ;  "  all  this 

198 


"I  Wish  You  to  Come  with  Me" 

day  has  the  Queen  gone  without  a  fire  herself  that  the 
gentlemen  and  ladies  might  have  one  in  the  saloon." 

Roger  put  the  log  down  at  once. 

"  I  wish  I  had  the  forests  of  Egremont  to  draw  upon." 
he  said,  and  then  followed  it  up  by  saying  in  a  quiet 
voice,  but  with  rapture  in  his  eyes,  — 

"  Do  you  know,  mademoiselle,  that  I  am  to  have  the 
honor  of  accompanying  you  and  Madame  de  Beau- 
manoir,  with  the  Duke  of  Berwick,  to  Orlamunde,  — 
that  is,  if  you  will  graciously  permit  me." 

Michelle  had  been  smiling  at  him  across  the  fire- 
place, one  of  her  little  feet  upon  the  fender  and  her 
fan  shading  her  face  from  the  glow  of  the  embers. 
She  wore  a  rich  gown  of  puce-colored  brocade,  and  the 
lace  of  the  half -sleeve,  falling  back,  revealed  her  deli- 
cate white  arm.  Roger  saw  the  hand  that  held  the 
fan  tremble ;  she  suddenly  grew  pale,  and  her  arm 
dropped  by  her  side. 

"  You  —  you  —  "  she  stammered ;  "  Berwick,  then, 
has  selected  you." 

"Subject,  of  course,  to  the  approval  of  yourself, 
mademoiselle,  and  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,"  replied 
Roger,  promptly  and  stiffly.  "  It  will  not  be  neces- 
sary for  you  to  make  a  formal  objection,  —  a  word,  a 
look,  and  I  would  rather  die  than  go  with  you  to 
Orlamunde." 

"I  did  not  mean  what  you  think,"  said  Michelle, 
after  a  pause,  and  in  her  sweetest  voice.  "  I  wish  you 
to  go.  Remember  that  the  Duke  of  Berwick  takes  his 
orders  on  this  journey,  not  from  me  but  from  the  King 
of  France  —  and  so  he  had  not  spoken  your  name  to 
me.     But  I  shall  esteem  it  a  favor  if  you  will  go." 

Roger's  face  assumed  a  discontented  expression.  He 
knew   women   well,    did  this    young    gentleman,   and 

199 


The  House  of  Egremont 

thought  when  Michelle  so  freely  expressed  a  wish  for 
him  to  accompany  her  that  she  did  not  care  a  fig 
whether  he  went  or  not.  So,  although  wild  horses 
could  scarcely  have  held  him  back  from  that  coveted 
journey  in  her  company,  he  said  debonairly,  — 

"  You  are  very  good.  I  may  yet  be  forced  to  change 
my  mind.  My  corps  marches  straight  to  the  Rhine.  It 
may  be  that  I  ought  to  march  with  them." 

Michelle  had  great  command  over  her  expressive 
face, — -all  except  her  black  eyes.  They  told  their 
story  to  Roger  Egremont  in  spite  of  her.  They  said, 
"  Come  with  me  on  this  journey,  I  want  you,"  and 
Roger,  answering  them  both  by  look  and  word,  said 
boldly,  — 

"  After  all,  mademoiselle,  I  reckon  upon  being  your 
escort,"  and  then  a  lovely  smile  dimpled  all  over  Mi- 
chelle's face ;  but  it  was  a  sad  smile,  not  a  merry  one. 

Near  by,  was  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  still  talking 
with  Berwick,  who  liked  the  old  lady's  conversation, 
and  was  sometimes  jovially  accused  by  Roger  of  wish- 
ing to  be  the  successor  of  the  late  duke  and  peer  of 
France.     She  was  saying, — 

"  So  you  go  to  Paris  to-morrow,  and  so  do  I  and  my 
niece  and  that  sober-sided  Francois.  I  shall  never 
make  anything  but  a  milksop  out  of  him.  We  go  by 
the  river,  in  a  boat  engaged  for  the  day,  with  car- 
pets and  cushions,  and  a  collation  to  be  served  by  my 
maitre  d'hotel.     Come  you  with  us." 

And  seeing  Roger  talking  with  Michelle,  the  old 
lady  screeched  out  an  invitation  to  him  too. 

"  'T  will  be  most  agreeable  to  us,  —  we  shall  need  to 
go  to  Paris  to  prepare  for  our  journej^  —  and  I  think, 
Mr.  Egremont,  we  may  accept  the  kind  invitation  of 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir,"  Berwick  replied. 

200 


<'I  Wish  You  to  Come  with  Me" 

To  which  Roger  agreed  joyfully,  and  when  he  walked 
back  through  the  cold  and  dampness  of  a  grim  Febru- 
ary night,  felt  as  if  he  were  in  heaven.  He  had  indeed 
preparations  to  make  in  Paris,  and  Berwick's  hint  of 
a  good  supply  of  money  was  most  agreeable  to  him. 
And  he  had  a  duty  to  perform ;  he  must,  of  course,  go 
to  see  Bess  Lukens  and  bid  her  farewell.  This,  be  it 
observed,  he  regarded  as  a  duty,  and  not  strictly  a 
pleasure.  He  always  felt  inexpressibly  mean  when  in 
her  company,  he  knew  not  why,  and  it  would  have 
been  far  easier  for  him  to  have  kept  only  her  memory. 
But  being,  with  all  his  faults,  of  a  loyal  nature,  he  could 
not  so  ill  requite  her.  In  truth,  Roger  Egremont  was 
better  formed  for  love  than  friendship  with  women. 

He  was  no  laggard  next  morning,  and  he  had  been 
fully  dressed  for  an  hour  when  he  met  Berwick  by 
appointment  at  the  foot  of  the  terrace  below  the  hill- 
side. They  walked  together  briskly  toward  the  river 
shining  in  the  white  light  of  morning.  The  fresh 
meadows  were  already  green,  although  it  was  still  Feb- 
ruary, and  the  air  was  full  of  that  mysterious  resurrec- 
tion called  springtime. 

They  reached  the  river,  and  at  the  water's  edge  lay  a 
boat  with  rowers,  and  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  maitre 
d'hotel  and  other  servants,  —  the  ladies  were  to  remain 
some  days  in  Paris,  —  and  a  huge  basket  containing  the 
collation.  And  presently  the  old  lady  herself  was 
seen  coming  down  the  valley,  supported  by  Francois 
Delaunay's  arm,  and  walking  demurely  behind  her  was 
Mademoiselle  d'Orantia. 

Michelle  wore  a  crimson  satin  hood  and  a  long  furred 
mantle,  for  the  morning  air  was  sharp.  Roger  saw 
welcome  in  her  eyes. 

The   ladies   were  assisted  into  the  boat;  the  rowers 
201 


The  House  of  Egremont 

took  their  places ;  and  they  began  to  glide  along  the 
winding,  steel-blue  river.  In  the  boat's  stern,  amid 
cushions  and  rugs,  sat  Madame  de  Beaumanoir.  The 
old  lady  was  in  high  spirits,  and  laughed  and  joked 
incessantly.  Berwick  listened  gravely,  and  occasion- 
ally delighted  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  by  his  sage 
observations.  Roger  would  have  esteemed  himself  less 
than  a  man  if  he  had  not  possessed  wit  enough  to  place 
himself  close  to  Michelle.  They  sat  with  their  backs  to 
the  rest  of  the  party,  hearing  every  word,  and  occa- 
sionally joining  in  the  conversation ;  but,  under  cover 
of  that  incessant  stream  of  chatter  from  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir,  they  exchanged  words  not  heard  by  any 
but  themselves.  They  passed  through  the  rich,  flat 
valley  of  the  Seine  rapidly  for  their  mode  of  travel ; 
the  rowers  were  many  and  strong  and  steady.  The 
country  people  were  at  work  in  the  fields,  where  the 
freshly  turned  earth  filled  the  air  with  its  odor,  — 
the  promise  of  fruitfulness  to  come.  The  hedges  were 
showing  faintly  green  amid  their  brown,  and  the  trees, 
though  still  bare,  were  full  of  swelling  buds.  The 
sun  shone  dazzling  bright,  and  bird-songs  filled  the  air 
as  the  singers  rioted  in  the  trees  and  bushes ;  it  was 
nest-building  time. 

Roger  Egremont,  who  could  never  be  anything  but  a 
countryman,  a  gentleman  of  the  soil,  revelled  in  all 
these  sights  and  sounds  ;  he  relished  them  more  than 
all  the  splendors  of  Versailles.  He  looked  eagerly  to 
see  how  they  appealed  to  Michelle,  and  saw  in  her 
dreamy  eyes  and  quiet  observation  that  she,  too,  heard 
the  sweet  language  which  Nature,  the  mighty  mother, 
speaks  to  her  own  true  children.  They  talked  a  little  ; 
but  their  words  and  thoughts  were  in  harmony  with 
the    scene    before    them.      It    seemed   as    if    both    of 

202 


<*I  Wish  You  to  Come  with  Me" 

them  had  tacitly  agreed  that  time  and  circumstance 
were  to  stand  still  for  them  on  that  day,  just  as  it  had 
for  the  little  time,  that  August  evening,  half  a  year 
before,  when  they  had  walked  hand  in  hand  as  a  shep- 
herd and  shepherdess  through  the  woods  and  fields  of 
St.  Germains,  —  that  day  they  had  waked  up  to  the 
fact  that  Corydon  was  Mr.  Roger  Egreraont,  a  gentle- 
man minus  an  estate,  and  living  scantily  upon  the 
bounty  of  his  exiled  master ;  and  Amaryllis  was 
Mademoiselle,  the  Princess  d'Orantia,  a  person  ac- 
customed to  courts  and  likely  to  have  her  destiny  fixed 
there.  Because  they  knew  this  day  together  was  but  a 
dream,  it  was  the  sweeter. 

"  I  am  glad  our  journey  to  Orlamunde  is  to  be  in  the 
springtime,"  said  Michelle,  softly.  "  It  will  be  along 
country  roads,  unlike  the  paved  highways  I  have  been 
used  to ;  for,  I  tell  you,  I  have  never  been  thirty  miles 
from  Paris  in  my  life,  and  I  only  know  the  real  coun- 
try, —  the  deep  forests,  and  stretches  of  plains,  and  the 
misty  mountains,  by  what  I  have  read  of  them  in  books, 
and  the  little  patches  of  homely  solitude  I  have  seen 
near  this  place.  I  am  convinced  that  Nature  is  affronted 
when  Art  seeks  too  close  acquaintance  with  her.  I  do 
not  believe  the  ancient  silent  trees  like  the  company  of 
fauns  and  nymphs,  such  as  they  have  at  Marly  and 
Versailles  and  all  these  royal  places.  It  frightens  away 
the  real  fauns  and  nymphs." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  those  divinities  ?  "  asked  Roger, 
smiling.  "  I  thought  I  was  the  only  Christian  pagan 
in  the  world." 

"  There  you  are  wrong,"  gravely  answered  Michelle. 
"  All  who  love  the  earth  as  it  stands,  believe  in  those 
divinities.  What  else  mean  those  strange  superstitions 
of  the  peasants  ?     Why  do  they  plant  their  grain  on  St. 

203 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Martin's  day,  and  trim  their  vines  on  St.  John's  day  ? 
Only  they  give  it  a  Christian  significance.  They  never 
heard  of  the  great  god  Pan.  We  —  you  and  I  and  our 
like  —  hold  on  to  these  beautiful  shadowy  dryads  and 
naiads,  as  we  held  on,  when  we  were  children,  to  gnomes 
and  fairies.     It  is  a  joyous  and  sweet  deception." 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  manner.  I  grew  up 
so  unlettered  that  I  never  heard  of  the  great  god  Pan, 
nor  nymphs,  nor  dryads.  It  took  another  shape  with 
me ;  I  felt  as  if  the  solemn  trees,  and  the  still,  silent 
fields,  and  the  restless,  talkative  streams  had  souls  and 
a  meaning ;  that  I  could  speak  to  them,  and  they  could 
speak  to  me.  I  often  fled  far  into  the  solitudes,  even 
when  I  was  a  very  little  lad,  to  talk  with  the  trees  and 
streams.  When  I  stood  under  any  one  of  the  ancient 
oaks  at  Egremont,  —  for  I  have  fine  oaks  there,  I 
promise  you,  —  it  told  me  a  story  of  the  winters  and 
summers  it  had  seen ;  that  it  had  known  my  father 
when  he  was  a  curly  headed  urchin  like  myself,  nay, 
that  it  had  seen  all  those  painted  people  in  the  hall  at 
Egremont  born,  grow  up,  and  die,  and  would  see  and 
know  as  much  after  I  were  dead  as  before  I  was  born. 
I  was  ashamed  to  speak  of  these  things  to  any  one  but 
to  my  cousin  Dicky  —  Mr.  Richard  Egremont,  now 
studying  at  Clermont  to  be  a  Jesuit.  He  lived  at 
the  edge  of  the  park  when  he  was  a  lad,  and  after- 
ward in  the  house  with  me.  I  wish  you  knew  my 
cousin  Dicky;  he  is  the  merriest,  honestest  fellow  — 
afraid  of  nothing." 

"If  he  be  so  daring,  why  does  he  not  become  a 
soldier  instead  of  a  priest?"  asked  Michelle. 

"  Oh,  a  priest  in  our  England  needs  to  have  as  much 
or  more  courage  than  a  soldier.  'T  is  death  to  a  Jesuit 
to  be  seen  in  England ;  but  Dicky  will  go  back,  never 

204 


"I  Wish  You  to  Come  with  Me" 

fear ;    the  Egremonts  have  their  failings,  but  they  are 
not  faint  of  heart." 

"  He  will  go  back  with  you  to  Egremont,"  said 
Michelle,  with  a  lovely  smile.  And  Roger  answered 
bravely,  — 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle,  some  day  I  shall  go  back,  and 
shall  be  in  better  case  than  most  of  the  gentlemen 
whose  estates  have  been  sequestrated,  for  mine  is  in 
the  hands  of  my  bastard  brother,  as  I  told  you  that 
day  in  December  on  the  terrace,  and  he  is  thrifty,  — 
a  bastard  needs  to  be;  and  I  shall  find  Egremont  in 
good  order  and  prosperous.  Then  shall  I  reap  the 
fruits  of  my  brother's  industry." 

As  he  stopped  speaking,  they  heard  a  cackle  of  laughter 
behind  them,  and  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  was  saying 
to  Berwick :  — 

"  Ah,  you  have  something  of  your  uncle  Charles 
about  you,  and  will  yet  have  your  fling — like  him, 
the  dear  rascal  I  I  would  not  give  one  such  King  as 
he  for  all  your  pious,  prajdng,  God-forgive-his-enemies 
Kings  in  the  universe." 

And  Berwick  laughed  at  this,  to  Roger's  amazement, 
as  always ;  for  he  never  could  understand  how  Berwick, 
a  man  without  fear  and  without  reproach,  should  either 
feel  no  shame  at  his  origin,  or  should  conceal  it  so 
stoically  that  no  man,  or  woman  either,  saw  the  least 
glimmer  of  it.  Michelle,  too,  was  surprised  at  Berwick's 
cool  smile  at  this  wicked  pleasantry  of  the  old  Duchess, 
and  exchanged  a  look  full  of  meaning  with  Roger. 

"  And  as  for  this  journey  to  Orlamunde,"  continued 
the  old  lady,  "I  should  not  fear  in  the  least  to  make 
it  with  only  my  servants  and  Frangois ;  for  although 
Francois  is  nothing  more  than  a  lump  of  clay  where 
good  liquor  and  pretty  women  are  concerned  — " 

205 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Here  Frangois  feebly  smiled,  and  Berwick  said,  with  a 
grin,  "  Madame,  I  am  informed  that  Monsieur  Delaunay 
is  reckoned  a  most  desperate  rake,  and  that  the  King 
and  Queen  therefore  desire  him  to  be  removed  from 
their  virtuous  court." 

"  Ah,"  sighed  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  "  I  wish  it 
were  true ;  there  is  not  a  man  in  my  family  fit  to 
keep  up  the  reputation  of  it.  However,  as  I  told  you, 
I  should  not  be  afraid  to  make  this  journey  alone, 
having  neither  youth  nor  beauty;  but  I  like  pleasant 
company.  King  Louis,  you  understand,  is  mightily 
obliged  to  us  for  going,  although  he  has  not  seen  fit 
to  give  me  his  reasons,  and  will  not  until  we  are  fairly 
on  the  move  for  Orlamunde.  He  palavered  much  about 
this,  did  his  Most  Christian  Majesty,  the  day  I  went  with 
my  niece  to  Marly.  We  saw  the  King  in  his  cabinet, 
—  old  Maintenon,  of  course,  listening  with  both  ears ; 
so  I  said  to  him  that  I  hoped  he  would  not  send  us  so 
far  without  some  good  company  with  us ;  and  when 
he  mentioned  you  and  Roger  Egremont,  I  replied, 
'  There  are  not  two  pleasanter  rogues  at  St.  Germains : 
Berwick,  for  all  his  lantern  jaws  and  solemn  ways, 
has  a  spice  of  his  blessed  uncle  in  him.'  You  should 
have  seen  old  Maintenon  cast  up  her  eyes  to  heaven ; 
but  the  King  knew  ;  he  was  not  always  so  prayerful  as 
he  is  now  — "  and  the  old  lady  gave  so  unconscion- 
able a  wink  that  neither  Berwick  nor  Roger  could 
refrain  from  laughing. 

At  midday,  they  were  half-way  to  Paris,  and  stopping 
for  an  hour  to  have  dinner,  and  to  stretch  their  cramped 
limbs  on  land,  they  left  the  boat.  The  maitre  d'h5tel, 
and  the  two  men-servants  with  him,  laid  the  cloth  upon 
the  grass,  under  some  cedar  trees,  for  the  sun  was 
strangely   warm   for   the    season,    and  spreading   rugs 

206 


"I  Wish  You  to  Come  with  Me" 

and  cushions  on  the  ground,  a  sylvan  dining-room  was 
made.  There  was  a  good  dinner  and  wine,  and  Roger, 
after  he  had  done  justice  to  both,  rose,  and,  inviting 
Michelle  by  a  look,  she  rose  too. 

"  We  will  meet  you  at  the  bend  in  the  river  two  miles 
ahead,"  he  said,  bowing  low  to  Madame  de  Beaumanoir, 
as  if  it  had  been  a  preconceived  arrangement  with 
Michelle. 

"  Go  on,"  she  replied,  flourishing  the  wing  of  a  cold 
fowl  at  him,  "  but  do  not  lose  your  way  and  find  your- 
self at  Verneuil  instead  of  Paris.  Young  people  used 
to  lose  their  way  in  my  day." 

Roger  was  glad  to  note  that  day  in  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir  a  kindness  of  heart  he  had  not  before 
credited  her  with.  He  saw  her  send  some  wine  and 
dainty  provender  to  the  rowers,  who  were  munching 
their  black  bread  and  cheese ;  and  she  gave  them  time 
to  rest  from  their  arduous  toil.  The  boat  was  still 
moored,  and  the  rowers  resting,  some  sleeping,  when 
Roger  and  Michelle  started  upon  their  walk  along  the 
river's  brink.  The  path  was  very  open  ;  scarce  a  tree  or 
a  bush  hid  them  from  view  along  the  turning  of  the 
bank.  Once  or  twice,  they  stopped  and  loitered  behind 
a  friendly  thicket,  and  had  a  delicious  sense  of  being 
alone,  and  far  from  the  every-day  world.  Roger's  heart 
danced  within  his  breast  when  he  thought  that,  in  the 
coming  journey,  he  would  have  many  walks  like  that 
with  Michelle,  only  more  solitary.  He  did  not  dream 
of  making  open  love  to  her.  Apart  from  the  fact  that 
he  was,  in  plain  language,  a  penniless  adventurer,  there 
was  that  hateful,  ridiculous,  odious,  and  senseless  ob- 
stacle, —  he  was  simply  a  private  gentleman,  and  she 
a  Princess,  with  some  faint  and  shadowy  tinsel  of  rank 
which   placed    her   above    any    private    gentleman   in 

•207 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Europe.  Yet  he  did  not  believe  that  any  man,  no 
matter  what  his  rank  or  title  might  be,  had  talked  with 
her  on  such  a  footing  of  equality  as  he  had  done. 

They  walked  along  leisurely,  in  the  bright  sunshine, 
sometimes  talking  and  sometimes  silent ;  but  in  those 
eloquent  pauses  their  eyes  met  and  exchanged  thoughts. 
Roger  saw  a  change  in  her  since  that  night  they  had 
met  on  the  road  toward  Verneuil.  Then  she  seemed 
at  first  sad  and  desolate  of  heart,  and  then  wildly  gay 
and  excited.  Now  there  was  a  quiet  composure  about 
her.  It  seemed  to  Roger  Egremont  as  if  this  journey 
involved  some  resolution,  —  something  which  would 
change  her  life,  and  which  she  accepted  with  courage 
and  patience,  rather  than  gayety  of  heart.  He  thought 
it  involved  a  long  residence  out  of  her  own  country,  — 
she  passionately  loved  it,  as  he  knew;  but  that  she  was 
sustained  by  the  hope  of  a  return.  That  it  would  be 
long  before  she  would  see  France  again,  he  knew  by 
what  she  said  as  they  passed  along  by  the  shining 
river. 

"  I  said  a  little  while  ago,  in  the  boat,  that  I  looked 
forward  with  sharpest  pleasure  to  those  days  of  travel 
that  are  before  me.  If  only  the  road  led  into  France 
instead  of  out  of  it !  Sometimes  —  oftenest  in  the 
night-time  —  the  thought  strikes  me  that  I  am  leaving 
my  own  country,  and  it  is  like  a  sword  through  my 
heart." 

"  I  know  that  grief,"  said  Roger ;  "  but  no  one  leaves 
his  country  without  the  hope  of  return  —  "  and  then  it 
occurred  to  him  that  when  he  found  himself  once  more 
at  Egremont,  Michelle  might  be  very  far  away.  He 
cast  out  this  rude,  interloping  thought,  however,  saying, 
smiling,  — 

"  When  we  are  in  our  own  land,  our  King  restored 

208 


"  I  Wish  You  to  Come  with  Me  " 

to  his  own,  then  must  all  those  who  have  been  kind  to 
us  in  our  exile,  come  to  visit  us  in  England.  Then 
will  we  requite  you;  and  you,  mademoiselle,  will  be 
among  the  number;  for  I  am  sure  Madame  de  Beau- 
manoir  will  land  in  England  along  with  the  King,  if 
she  can." 

At  which  they  both  laughed,  and  Michelle  said,  — 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  see  my  mother's  country  — 
and  some  day  —  some  day  I  shall  see  it." 

And  so,  in  sweet  idle  talk  and  sweeter  silences,  they 
went  along,  and,  far  too  soon,  they  came  to  the  bend  in 
the  river  where  they  were  to  await  the  boat.  It  was 
already  near,  and  then  they  stepped  in  it,  and  were 
borne  steadily  on  toward  Paris. 

It  grew  dusk  before  they  reached  Paris.  The  solemn 
twilight,  falling  like  magic  over  land  and  river  and 
villages,  the  stars,  coming  out  one  by  one  in  the  dark 
blue  heavens,  as  the  opaline  light  died  away  in  the 
west,  subdued  them  all.  It  even  stopped  the  clack 
of  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  tongue.  There  was  no 
sound  but  the  regular  dip  of  the  oars,  the  occasional 
faint  cry  of  a  night  bird,  or  the  echo  of  a  dog's 
friendly  bark  as  they  glided  past  the  quiet  villages, 
now  dim  in  the  evening  shadows.  The  silver  river 
turned  to  a  purple  blackness  ;  a  young  moon  was 
delicately  and  fleetingly  reflected  in  the  dark  water. 
It  was  quite  dark  when  they  came  upon  the  streets 
and  quays  of  Paris.  The  towers  of  Notre  Dame 
loomed  large  in  the  gloom  of  night.  There  were  other 
boats  passing  them,  or  going  along  with  them,  —  some 
bearing  a  crowd  of  roysterers  ,  others  returning  empty 
to  the  villages  whence  in  the  morning  they  had  brought 
supplies  for  the  town;  others  still,  loaded  with  mer- 
chandise, were  making  their  way,  slowly  and  mysteri- 
14  209 


The  House  of  Egremont 

ously  along,  bound  for  some  distant  place,  far  beyond 
St.  Germains.  The  streets  were  still  full  of  people, 
going  from  work,  and  the  swinging  lanterns,  hanging  on 
ropes  at  the  crossings,  cast  weird  and  flickering  shadows 
upon  the  water.  They  went  quite  into  the  heart  of  the 
town,  landing  at  the  quay  on  which  the  Louvre  fronted. 
The  vast,  unlighted  pile  looked  superhumanly  large 
in  the  half-light.  Berwick,  friendly  as  ever  to  Roger, 
assisted  Madame  de  Beaumanoir;  while  Roger  Egre- 
mont, in  the  darkness,  held  Michelle's  little  hand  in 
his  while  he  helped  her  out,  and  for  a  moment  after. 
A  coach  was  in  waiting  for  the  ladies,  into  which  they 
stepped,  and  rolled  off,  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  com- 
manding her  two  young  friends  to  visit  her  as  soon  as 
she  returned  to  St.  Germains ;  they  were  both  to  go 
back  the  following  day. 

Roger  remained  standing  in  the  street  until  the  coach 
turned  the  next  corner ;  he  caught  one  more  glimpse 
of  Michelle's  fair  face  and  dark  eyes  before  she  was 
lost  to  his  sight. 

He  sighed  heavily.  Berwick,  without  saying  any- 
thing, clapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  saying,  — 

"Come  —  to  our  inn  —  and  note  how  different  life 
will  look  to  thee  before  a  bright  fire,  with  a  good 
supper  and  honest  wine  to  follow  ! " 

Roger  answered  him  with  a  dull,  forced  smile. 

They  went  to  a  good  inn,  and  had  supper,  and  Roger 
Egremont,  being  a  very  human  man  after  all,  recovered 
his  spirits  immediately,  and  laughed  and  sang,  and 
joined  heartily  in  the  toast  to  the  ladies.  But  he  did 
not  mention  Michelle's  name,  nor  any  subject  of  their 
talk  during  that  long,  sweet  day.  And  Berwick,  wise 
gentleman  that  he  was,  asked  no  questions. 

Next  morning  early,  they  sallied  forth,  to  make  the 

210 


"I  Wish  You  to  Come  with  Me" 

necessary  purchases  for  their  journey.  Roger,  in  the 
rashness  of  youth,  bought  a  suit  of  delicate  green  and 
gold,  with  a  waistcoat  of  rose-colored  satin;  this  was 
for  the  benefit  of  the  ladies.  And  he  also  bought  him- 
self a  brace  of  horse-pistols,  and  a  furred  body-coat  and 
mantle  of  black  cloth,  and  a  little  worn  volume  of 
Ronsard's  verses,  hiding  the  book  in  his  breast  and 
saying  nothing  of  it. 

In  the  afternoon  he  was  to  go  to  see  Bess  Lukens, 
and  at  five  o'clock  he  was  to  meet  Berwick  at  the 
Porte  St.  Martin.  He  wished  it  were  already  five 
o'clock,  as  he  made  his  way  on  Merrylegs  through  the 
dark  and  narrow  streets  toward  Papa  Mazet's  house. 
Roger  Egremont  was  a  bold  man,  full  of  daring ;  but 
some  of  your  greatest  poltroons  where  women  are  con- 
cerned are  made  of  these  swashbucklers. 

As  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  he  came  upon 
Papa  Mazet,  pottering  along  with  his  cane  and  snuff- 
box.    Roger  dismounted  to  greet  him. 

"  Happy  am  I  to  see  you,  Monsieur  Egremont,"  cried 
old  Mazet,  delighted,  "  and  thank  you  for  bringing  that 
song-bird,  Mees  Lukens,  to  Madame  Michot's.  She 
sings  all  day,  ever  better  and  better.  Next  week,  she 
is  to  sing  at  a  little  concert  given  for  the  King  by 
Monseigneur  the  Dauphin,  with  the  accompaniment 
of  his  Majesty's  own  band  of  twenty-four  violins. 
But  — "  here  old  Mazet  rubbed  his  nose  dubiously, 
"  she  has  her  drawbacks  —  she  has  her  drawbacks. 
When  she  is  not  singing,  she  is  eternally  sweeping, 
cleaning,  brushing,  scrubbing,  and  washing.  Between 
us,  I  may  say  to  you,  my  sister  and  I  should  be 
rather  better  pleased  if  she  would  let  a  few  cobwebs 
and  a  little  dust  remain.  We  are  cleaned  and  dusted 
until  we  are  half  dead  sometimes.     But  Mees  Bess  has 

211 


The  House  of  Egremont 

a  temper.  My  God !  She  has  learned  to  swear  in 
French,   and   it  is  truly  terrible  when  she  is  angry." 

Roger  laughed  at  this. 

"She  was  ever  the  most  tireless  worker  imagin- 
able. I  go  now  to  see  her,  and  I  have  the  honor  to 
bid  you  farewell,  monsieur.  In  a  few  days  I  go  on  a 
journey,  and  then  to  join  the  army  of  the  Mar^chal  de 
Luxembourg." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  air  was  flooded  with  melody 
from  Monsieur  Mazet's  house.  Trills,  like  the  full- 
throated  song  of  birds,  and  roulades  like  the  fall  of 
fountains,  echoed  musically  through  the  narrow  old 
street,  and  the  sun  coming  out  strong  just  then,  it  was 
as  if  the  darksome  place  were  flooded  with  light  and 
song.  Bess  was  practising.  Roger  listened  at  the 
door  until  a  pause  came,  and  then  knocked  loudly. 

Bess  herself  opened  the  door,  and  when  her  eyes 
lighted  upon  him,  they  danced  with  pleasure. 

"  Come  in,  Roger,  —  I  thought  you  were  never  com- 
ing to  see  me  again,"  she  cried ;  and  Roger,  following 
her,  entered  and  sat  down  in  the  long,  low  room,  full 
of  musical  instruments,  and  with  bare,  polished  floor, 
where  Bess  practised  her  singing.  He  did  not  need 
Monsieur  Mazet  to  tell  liim  of  the  change  that  had 
taken  place.  The  floor  shone  with  wax,  and  was 
so  slippery  that  Roger  thought  his  life  in  jeopardy 
when  he  crossed  it.  The  chairs  were  rubbed  bright; 
there  was  not  a  speck  on  window-pane  or  wood- 
work ;  and  every  piece  of  music  was  in  exact  order. 
Dusting  and  scrubbing  were  essentials  of  Bess  Lukens's 
existence. 

"I  have  good  news  of  you  —  great  news,  Bess,"  said 
Roger,  kindly. 

^'Yes,"  replied  Bess,  her  face  dimpling  into  smiles, 

212 


*'I  Wish  You  to  Come  with  Me" 

"  singing  is  the  easiest  work  in  the  world.  Next  week 
I  am  to  sing  before  the  King.  Papa  Mazet  is  scared 
out  of  his  five  wits;  but  I  a'n't.  Somehow  I  never 
can  be  afraid  of  these  here  French.  Now  if  it  was 
before  our  own  blessed  King  and  Queen,  there 'd  be 
something  to  be  scared  about." 

While  Bess  was  speaking,  Roger  was  studying  her 
by  comparison.  Without  doubt,  she  was  one  of  the 
handsomest  creatures  he  had  ever  seen.  Hard  work 
had  not  disfigured  her,  but  had  nobly  developed  her. 
The  life  she  was  now  leading  had  refined  her  beauty. 
It  was  of  that  rich  and  luscious  sort  that  appeals 
frankly  to  all,  like  a  gorgeous  full  blown-rose.  But 
Roger  remembered  a  woman  whose  beauty  was  elusive, 
and  of  whom  he  could  not  say,  as  of  Bess  Lukens,  that 
all  the  world  could  see  all  her  beauty.  Bess  had  a 
deep,  deep  dimple  in  either  cheek,  which  showed  beau- 
tifully when  she  laughed.  Michelle  had  only  a  very 
faint  one  in  her  delicate,  pale  face,  and  when  she 
laughed,  it  was  more  with  her  eyes  than  her  mouth. 
However,  Bess  knew  nothing  of  what  was  passing  in 
Roger's  mind.  She  only  saw  him  kind,  interested,  not 
ashamed  of  his  friendship  with  her.  She  talked  on 
gayly,  — 

"And  you  see  how  I  have  cleaned  up,"  she  said, 
pointing  around  proudly ;  "  and  I  look  after  the  butcher 
and  the  green-grocer  too ;  and  you  ought  to  hear  me 
scold  'em  !  My  voice  always  was  pretty  loud ;  but  't  is 
louder  than  ever  now,  and  when  I  give  'era  the  rough 
side  of  my  tongue,  you  'd  think  it  was  a  Dutch  trooper. 
I  make  the  monsieurs  shake  in  their  shoes.  On  the 
the  whole,  I  think  no  girl  of  my  condition  is  as  fortu- 
nate as  me ;  for  Papa  and  Mamma  Mazet  never  speak 
a  hard  word  to  me ;  and  I  am  doing  what  1  like  best 

213 


The  House  of  Egremont 

in  the  world,  —  to  sing ;  and  nobody  but  yourself  and 
your  cousin,  Mr.  Richard  Egremont,  know  that  I  am 
Red  Bess,  the  niece  of  Lukens,  the  turnkey;  and  I 
know  neither  one  of  you  will  ever  betray  me.  By  the 
way,  would  not  Mr.  Richard  come  to  see  me  sometimes, 
if  he  be  in  Paris  ?  " 

"No  doubt,  with  pleasure,"  replied  Roger;  "but 
Dicky,  you  know,  is  a  seminarist  yet,  and  does  not 
often  leave  Clermont;  although,  he  being  English,  and 
having  relations  and  friends  at  St.  Germains,  they 
sometimes  let  him  go  there." 

"  1  know,"  replied  Bess,  with  something  like  a  sniff, 
"I  know  he  is  to  be  a  popish  priest;  and  he,  a  good- 
looking  young  chap  as  might  have  his  own  way  with 
the  ladies." 

Roger  laughed. 

"Come  now,  Roger,"  cried  Bess,  "you  can't  deny 
't  is  a  monstrous  queer  thing  to  do.  1  've  seen  some 
of  them  Jesuits  in  Newgate,  and  I  never  saw  one 
that  I  did  n't  think  had  sense  and  learning  enough  to 
have  kept  out,  if  he  had  wanted  to.  But  I  like  Mr. 
Dicky,  for  all  his  popery;  and  as  I  have  no  friends 
but  French  friends,  except  yourself,  I'd  like  to  have 
another  English  friend  in  Mr.  Richard  Egremont." 

"  I  '11  tell  him  all  you  say,"  said  Roger,  laughing ; 
and  then  growing  serious,  he  continued,  — 

"  It  would  make  me  easier  at  heart  if  you  had  Dicky 
for  a  friend ;  because  I  go  away  shortly  for  a  soldier, 
with  my  corps,  and  some  of  us  will  not  come  back." 

The  blood  dropped  suddenly  out  of  Bess's  rosy  face : 
but  she  said  quite  steadily,  — 

"  You  go  to  England  ?  " 

"  Alas,  no !  I  go  first  upon  a  journey  to  the  Rhine,  and 
then  join  the  army  of  the  Mar^chal  de  Luxembourg." 

214 


"I  Wish  You  to  Come  with  Me" 

"  And  with  whom  go  you  upon  this  journey  ?  " 

"With  the  Duke  of  Berwick,"  replied  Roger;  and 
then,  knowing  she  must  soon  find  out  all  the  particu- 
lars in  a  place  where  all  the  world  gossiped,  he  added 
desperately,  "We  accompany  the  Duchess  de  Beau- 
manoir  and  her  niece.  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia,  to  Orla- 
munde,  in  the  Rhine  land." 

He  forced  himself  to  meet  her  eyes  as  he  spoke, 
and  saw  in  them  fear  and  reproach.  Yet  she  only 
said,  — 

"Mademoiselle  d'Orantia  was  the  lady  you  made 
hay  with  in  the  meadow?" 

And  Roger  answered  readily,  — 

"Yes,  the  Princess  Michelle  d'Orantia;  she  will 
make  hay  with  a  private  gentleman  for  amusement, 
but  she  thinks  him  not  her  equal ;  so  I  go  humbly  in 
her  suite  to  Orlamunde." 

Bess's  face  did  not  clear.  Her  nimble  wit  told  her 
that  Roger  meant  to  convey  that  Michelle  was  too 
highly  placed  for  him  to  aspire  to  her  hand;  but  that 
did  not  mean  in  the  least  that  he  might  not  love  her 
desperately.  Bess  knew  that  it  was  quite  possible  to 
love  beyond  one's  station.  She  said  nothing;  but  the 
rippling  stream  of  her  talk  and  laughter  were  stopped. 
And  Roger,  to  carry  the  war  into  the  enemy's  camp, 
said,  — 

"Perhaps,  when  I  return,  I  shall  find  you  married; 
that  would  not  seem  strange  to  the  rest  of  the  world, 
but  it  would  seem  strange  to  me." 

Roger  could  not  part  from  any  pretty  woman  without 
infusing  a  dash  of  sentiment  into  the  parting. 

"  La ! "  cried  Bess,  suddenly  recovering  herself,  "  1 
wouldn't  marry  a  monsieur,  unless  he  was  to  let  me 
wash  him  all  over,  every  day;   for  if  he  promised  me 

215 


The  House  of  Egremont 

he  'd  do  it,  as  like  as  not  he  'd  lie  about  it.  I  like  a 
clean  man,  and  'tis  the  great  fault  of  these  French 
folks  that  they  a'n't  in  love  with  soap  and  water.  You 
haven't  told  me  to  keep  honest;  well,  that  mark  I 
gave  you  on  your  forehead  speaks  for  itself." 

"  Truly  it  does,  my  dear.  I  never  thought  of  telling 
you  to  keep  honest." 

"  And  you  will  let  me  hear  from  you  sometimes  ?  " 

"I  will  without  fail.  Go  you  to  St.  Germains, 
when  occasion  serves,  and  when  you  are  a  great  singer, 
pay  your  respects  to  our  King  and  Queen  and  little 
Prince." 

"  That  I  will.  The  King,  I  take  it,  is  a  mighty  fool- 
ish old  person.  First,  he  ran  away  from  England  with- 
out cause,  and  has  been  trying  to  get  back  ever  since. 
But  he  is  my  King  and  yours,  and  nobody  is  a  better 
Jacobite  than  Bess  Lukens,  and  I  hate  the  Whigs  worse 
and  worse." 

"  Keep  on  hating  them ;  't  is  verj-  wholesome." 

Then,  it  was  time  for  him  to  go,  and  rising,  he  said  to 
her, — 

"  Good-bye,  Bess.  I  pray  you  to  remember  me,  and 
reckon  me  first  among  your  friends." 

Then,  holding  each  other's  hands,  they  parted  sol- 
emnly and  affectionately,  Bess  saying, — 

"  Roger,  of  all  the  people  in  the  world,  you  are  the 
best  friend  I  have,  and  I  love  you  honestly,  as  you 
love  me ;  so  good-bye,  and  God  keep  you." 

She  tiptoed  and  kissed  his  forehead  near  the  scar 
she  had  given  him,  and  Roger,  lifting  her  shapely  but 
coarse  hand  to  his  lips,  kissed  it  as  if  it  were  the  hand 
of  a  duchess  ;  and  that  was  their  parting. 


216 


CHAPTER  X 
ho!  for  orlamunde 

AT  five  o'clock,  Roger  found  Berwick  waiting  for 
him  at  the  Porte  St.  Martin,  and  then  taking 
the  road  briskly,  they  arrived  at  St.  Germains  before 
eight  o'clock. 

In  the  guard-room,  they  were  told  that  the  company  of 
gentlemen-at-arms  had  got  marching  orders,  and  on  the 
next  morning  would  be  reviewed  by  the  King  for  the 
last  time.  All  of  these  men  had  strange  and  mixed 
feelings.  They  were  to  descend  outwardly  from  their 
estate  of  gentlemen,  and  become  common  soldiers,  as  far 
as  their  pay  and  duty  were  concerned.  But  they  were 
to  rank  with  the  musketeers  of  the  French  King,  of 
whom  both  rank  and  file  were  gentlemen ;  nor  could  any 
except  a  gentleman  be  of  this  picked  corps,  and  the  Duke 
of  Berwick  was  to  command  them.  These  Jacobite 
gentlemen  regarded  themselves  naturally  as  both  heroes 
and  martyrs,  and  being  bold  and  adventurous  spirits, 
the  thought  of  the  coming  campaign,  under  the  great 
Mardchal  de  Luxembourg,  gave  them  rather  relief  as  a 
blessed  change  from  the  tedium  of  St.  Germains,  and 
the  piteous  sight  of  their  royal  master,  whom  they  were 
unable  to  help.  And  so,  with  pain  and  joy,  with  hope 
and  with  sad  retrospection  they  performed  their  last 
guard  duty. 

On  the  morrow,  the  commandant  of  the  guard. 
General  Buchan,  paraded  it   under  arms  for   the   last 

217 


The  House  of  Egremont 

time  as  the  household  troops  of  James  Stuart.  It  was  a 
sombre  February  morning,  the  snow  flying,  and  a  bitter 
wind  cutting  the  keen  air.  They  were  formed  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  chateau,  facing  the  main  entrance. 
General  Buchan  was  at  their  head.  They  remained 
motionless  for  a  few  minutes,  —  a  soldierly  body  of  men, 
each  man  an  exile  for  conscience'  sake. 

Then,  walking  down  the  stairway,  came  the  poor 
King,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Berwick,  and  holding  by 
the  other  hand  the  little  Prince  of  Wales.  Leaving 
the  child  to  Berwick,  the  King  came  into  the  courtyard, 
and  beginning  with  the  commandant  passed  down  the 
line,  and  wrote  down  in  his  pocket-book  the  name  and 
rank  of  every  one  of  them,  thanking  each  man  particu- 
larly for  his  loyalty.  The  last  name  the  king  wrote 
down  was  that  of  Roger  Egremont,  Gentleman,  of 
Egremont  in  Devonshire.     To  Roger  he  said,  — 

"  You  have  given  up  a  noble  heritage  to  follow  your 
king,  Mr.  Egremont." 

"  Sir,"  replied  Roger.  "  I  durst  not  do  otherwise,  as  I 
am  a  true  man." 

The  King  then  addressed  them,  speaking  not  with- 
out a  certain  majesty,  —  for  James  Stuart  bore  his  sor- 
rows manfully,  without  complaint  or  repining.  He 
said,  — 

"  Gentlemen,  my  own  misfortunes  are  not  so  nigh  my 
heart  as  yours.  It  grieves  me  beyond  what  I  can  express 
to  see  so  many  brave  and  worthy  gentlemen  who  had 
once  the  prospect  of  being  the  chief  officers  in  my  army 
reduced  to  the  stations  of  private  soldiers.  The  sense 
of  what  all  of  you  have  done  and  undergone  for  your 
loyalty  hath  made  so  deep  an  impression  on  my  heart 
that  if  it  please  God  to  restore  me,  it  is  impossible  I  can 
be  forgetful  of  your  services  and  sufferings.     Neither 

218 


THEN,  WALKING   DOWN  THE   STAIRWAY,  GAME   THE   POOR   KING 


Ho!    For  Orlamunde 

can  there  be  any  posts  in  my  armies  but  what  you  may 
have  just  pretensions  to.  As  for  my  son,  your  Prince, 
he  is  of  your  own  blood ;  and  as  his  education  will  be 
from  you  it  is  not  supposable  he  can  ever  forget  your 
merits.  At  your  own  desire  you  are  now  going  a  long 
march,  far  distant  from  me.  I  have  taken  care  to  pro- 
vide you  with  money,  shoes  and  stockings,  and  other 
necessaries.  Fear  God  and  love  one  another.  Write 
all  your  wants  particularly  to  me,  and  depend  upon  it 
always  to  find  in  me  your  father  and  King."  ^ 

To  this,  General  Buchan  replied  for  the  corps ;  speak- 
ing briefly  and  strongly,  as  men  in  their  sad  and  desper- 
ate case  should  speak. 

"  For  the  sake  of  your  Majesty  we  will  submit  to  the 
meanest  circumstances  and  undergo  the  greatest  hard- 
ships and  fatigues  that  reason  can  imagine  or  misfortimc 
can  inflict  until  God  shall  please  to  restore  you  and  us 
to  our  own." 

The  King  at  this  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  his  gray 
head  low  to  them.  Then  he  turned  and  walked  a  few 
steps  away,  up  the  stairway,  where  stood  the  little 
Prince  of  Wales,  silent  and  wondering,  and  clinging  to 
Berwick.  And  having  gone  a  little  way,  the  King 
returned,  still  carrying  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  bowed 
low  again  to  the  corps  —  and  then  burst  into  a  passion 
of  tears. 

At  this  the  guard  as  one  man  kneeled  and  bent  their 
eyes  on  the  ground,  and  presently  rising,  passed  the 
King,  the  tears  streaming  down  his  furrowed  cheeks, 
and  gave  him  all  the  royal  honors. 

When  the  parade  was  dismissed  Roger  Egremont 
went  back  to  the  palace.  Outside,  in  the  gardens,  he 
met  Berwick  walking  with  the  little  Prince  of  Wales 

1  From  Dundee's  Memoirs. 
219 


The  House  of  Egremont 

and  his  governor.  The  lad,  his  hand  within  that  of 
his  half-brother,  was  pleading,  — 

"  Ask  the  Queen,  my  mother,  if  you  may  take  me 
into  the  forest  to  play," 

"  Not  to-day,  my  Prince,"  replied  Berwick,  gently  try- 
ing to  loosen  his  hand. 

Roger  kneeled,  and  the  little  fellow  was  compelled  to 
let  go  Berwick's  hand  in  order  to  receive  upon  his  own 
hand  Roger's  loyal  kiss. 

The  child  went  off  discontentedly,  looking  back  at 
Berwick  who  was  smiling  at  him,  and  Roger  whose 
face  was  grave. 

"  When  do  we  start  for  Orlamunde  ?  "  asked  Roger, 
after  a  while. 

"  In  a  couple  of  days,  perhaps,  or  possibly  not  for  a 
week.     I  await  word  from  Marly." 

Roger  reflected ;  he  could  not  go  to  Clermont  to  see 
Dicky,  but  he  knew  of  a  messenger  going  there,  and 
Dicky  might  get  permission  from  his  superiors  to  come 
to  St.  Germains ;  there  was  little  difficulty  in  the  Eng- 
lish seminarists  going  to  and  fro.  So  Roger  hastened 
to  his  garret  at  Madame  Michot's  and  scratched  a  hasty 
line  to  Dicky ;  then  finding  his  man  in  the  village  sent 
off  the  note,  and  began  making  his  preparations  to  start 
at  an  hour's  notice. 

He  had  not  much  to  do ;  your  man  whose  purse  is 
light  and  his  wardrobe  scanty,  can  make  ready  in  a 
little  while  to  go  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  He  looked 
around  his  great,  bare  room  with  the  affection  one  feels 
for  a  place  where  one  has  been  well  treated.  Yes,  it  was 
in  that  garret,  on  that  narrow,  hard  bed,  that  he  had 
dreamed  his  first  dreams  about  Michelle.  He  had 
thought  it  a  palace  after  Newgate  gaol.  He  went  down 
to  the  common  room,  which  was  quite  deserted  at  that 

220 


Ho!    For  Orlamunde 

hour,  asked  Madame  Michot  for  his  score,  and  paid  it 
like  a  gentleman,  without  looking  at  it,  saying,  — 

"  I  am  leaving  shortly  for  the  campaign  in  the  Low 
Countries,  and  wish  to  settle  my  affairs  before  the  last 
hour  before  departure  comes." 

Madame  Michot  expressed  her  regret  at  his  going. 
Mr.  Egremont  had  been  so  pleasant  always  ,  but  so  were 
all  of  the  gentlemen  who  frequented  her  house. 

"  And  madam,"  said  Roger,  with  an  elaborate  affec- 
tation of  carelessness,  "I  hope  you  will  continue  to 
bestow  your  friendship  on  Miss  Lukens." 

"  I  will ;  never  fear,"  replied  Madame  Michot ;  and 
Roger,  floundering  awkwardly,  being  at  a  loss  for  ideas 
as  well  as  words,  added,  — 

"  If  you  would  keep  an  eye  upon  her  —  " 

Madame  Michot's  mouth  came  open  in  a  broad  smile. 

"  It  is  hardly  worth  while  for  me  to  promise  that, 
Mr.  Egremont,"  she  said.  "  I  know  of  no  one  better 
able  to  take  care  of  herself  than  Miss  Lukens;  and  if 
she  takes  it  into  her  head  to  misbehave,  I  know  of  no 
one  strong  enough  to  stop  her." 

At  which  Roger  laughed  and  went  his  way.  He 
reckoned  Madame  Michot  as  one  of  Bess  Lukens's  most 
powerful  friends. 

On  the  third  day  Roger  had  an  intimation  that  they 
would  start  on  the  following  morning  at  sunrise.  He 
had  heard  no  word  from  Dicky,  and  feared  he  could  not 
come  to  St.  Germains.  That  day  he  spent  strolling 
through  the  places  grown  dear  to  him  in  that  past  year. 
He  walked  through  the  forest.  Spring  was  at  hand,  and 
the  trees  knew  it.  The  brown  earth  was  soft  under  his 
feet,  and  there  was  a  faint  blue  haze  over  all  the  woods 
and  fields  and  thickets.  He  had  thought,  when  he  first 
came  to  St.  Germains,  that  he  would  not  set  forth  from 

221 


The  House  of  Egremont 

it  until  he  should  take  the  highroad  for  Calais,  and 
thence  to  England.  He  had  no  more  forgotten  his 
own  land  and  Egremont  than  the  Jewish  captives  had 
forgotten  their  country  when  they  wept  by  the  waters 
of  Babylon,  Every  time  he  looked  upon  the  fair  face  of 
Nature,  or  heard  her  voice,  it  spoke  to  him  of  his  home. 
For  so  long  it  had  been  all  he  had  to  love !  When  the 
wind  blew  softly,  it  brought  him  recollections  of  the 
wind  that  wandered  through  the  laurel  copse  and 
sported  upon  the  wido,  green  lawn  at  the  south  corner 
of  Egremont.  When  it  rained  he  could  shut  his  eyes 
and  dream  he  was  in  the  little  tower  room  where  he 
slept  as  a  boy,  and  that  the  pattering  drops  were  com- 
ing down  upon  the  tiled  roof  of  the  buttery  hatch 
below  his  window.  Sunshine  and  starshine,  night  and 
day,  morning  and  evening,  in  France,  were  transformed 
in  his  eyes  to  England,  and  this  dream  of  his  home 
seemed  real,  and  the  foreign  country  round  about  him 
unreal.  And  with  every  thought  of  Egremont  came  the 
fixed  determination  to  make  Hugo  Stein  pay  dearly  for 
ever}'  hour  that  he  had  kept  the  rightful  master  out  of 
his  own. 

Thinking  these  and  other  poignant  thoughts,  he  de- 
scended from  the  heights  into  the  lovely  valley  of  the 
Seine.  He  passed  the  lodge  gates  of  the  place  where 
dwelt  Michelle  —  he  could  not  see  the  chateau  for  the 
trees.  He  walked  to  the  place  where  he  had  first  seen 
her,  —  the  little  retired  strip  of  meadow,  with  the  old 
rose-trees  scattered  about  it.  The  spring  had  been  farther 
advanced  then,  —  it  was  not  quite  a  year,  —  yet  he  had 
lived  so  much  more  in  that  time  than  in  any  other  year 
of  his  life  that  it  seemed  a  vast  space  of  time.  It 
occurred  to  him  that  he  had  already  lived  an  eternity, 
although  he  was  not  six  and  twenty  years  old.     Few 

222 


Ho!    For  Orlamunde 

men  had  known  such  outward  vicissitudes ;  none  that 
he  knew  had  experienced  those  inner  changes.  He  had 
gone  into  Newgate  prison  one  man  —  he  had  come  out 
of  it  another  man.  He  was  by  nature  and  birth  a 
country  gentleman  —  he  was  about  to  become  a  sol- 
dier of  fortune.  Yet,  such  was  the  true,  adventurous 
nature  of  the  man  that  he  thrilled  with  joy  at  the 
thought  of  the  chances  and  changes,  the  delights  and 
the  dangers  of  the  life  upon  which  he  was  to  enter. 

He  could  see  the  terrace  from  the  valley,  as  he  strolled 
along.  The  sun  was  shining,  and  coaches  were  driving 
slowly  up  and  down,  and  people  were  leaning  over  the 
parapet.  He  did  not  go  near  them,  —  he  was  in  no 
mood  for  people  then.  He  climbed  the  vast  stone  stairs 
which  lead  from  the  meadow  to  the  terrace,  and  sat  on 
the  stone  benches  by  the  way,  and  looking  about  him, 
asked  himself,  as  all  men  do  on  leaving  a  place  for  a 
new  life,  "  Shall  ever  I  see  this  place  again  ?  " 

He  returned  to  the  inn  in  the  afternoon.  On  the  way 
he  passed  Berwick  on  horseback,  riding  fast,  with  his 
servant  behind  him. 

He  stopped,  leaned  over  in  his  saddle,  and  said  in 
Roger's  ear,  "  We  ride  to-morrow  at  sunrise." 

Roger  literally  ran  back  to  the  inn.  There  were  a 
few  of  his  modest  preparations  to  be  finished.  He  would 
not  give  up  hope  of  seeing  Dicky  until  the  last,  and  so 
would  not  write  him  a  last  letter.  At  eight  o'clock  he 
dressed  himself,  not  in  his  new  suit  of  green  and  silver, 
and  went  to  the  palace.  He  had  not  the  heart  to  flaunt 
his  peach-colored  waistcoat  in  the  face  of  the  King  and 
Queen.  He  had  heard  the  ladies  say  that  the  Queen 
had  dressed  quite  shabbily  of  late,  —  although  to  him 
she  ever  appeared  majestic  in  dress  as  in  everything  else  ; 
but  he  had  no  eyes  for  frayed  brocades   and   mended 

228 


The  House  of  Egremont 

lace.  The  King  always  dressed  plainly,  and  fine  clothes 
were  so  rare  at  the  palace  that  a  new  gala  suit  was  sure 
to  cause  something  like  a  panic. 

He  stopped  for  a  half-hour  in  the  Hall  of  Guards  —  for 
although  there  were  no  longer  any  guards,  yet  these 
gentlemen  frequented  their  old  quarters. 

There  were  numbers  of  the  late  corps  present,  all 
eager  for  the  coming  campaign,  and  all  bearing  their 
melancholy  fortune  with  cheerfulness  and  even  gayety  — 
especially  the  Irish  gentlemen,  whose  spirits  rose 
mightily  at  the  prospect  of  fighting. 

In  the  great  saloon  above,  the  King  and  Queen  were, 
not  sitting  in  state  as  the  French  princes  and  princesses 
did,  but  walking  about,  and  motioning  those  to  whom 
they  talked  to  sit  at  ease.  The  King,  beckoning  to 
Roger,  said  to  him,  — 

"  Mr.  Egremont,  1  was  gratified  to  give  your  services, 
with  those  of  the  Duke  of  Berwick,  to  my  brother  the 
French  King,  for  the  temporary  service  he  intends,  be- 
fore you  join  the  Mardchal  de  Luxembourg.  Yet  in 
you  I  have  lost  the  best  penman  I  ever  had." 

"  I  thank  your  Majesty  for  that  word,"  replied  Roger, 
inwardly  congratulating  himself  on  having  exchanged 
the  pen  for  the  sword. 

And  then  the  Queen  called  him  to  her,  and  told  him 

smilingly  that  the  little  Prince  of  Wales  had  asked  that 

.  Mr.  Roger  Egremont  be  made  his  governor,  because  he 

told  such  beautiful  stories  of  bears  and  lions.     Roger 

had  sometimes  amused  the  child  with  tales. 

He  was  looking  all  the  time  for  Michelle,  with  small 
hope  of  seeing  her.  But  presently  he  heard  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir  cackling  in  the  distance,  and  in  another 
minute  she  appeared,  with  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia,  and 
Francois  in  attendance. 

224 


Ho!    For  Orlamunde 

Madame  de  Beaumanoir  always  made  a  flutter  at  her 
entrance,  even  into  the  presence  of  royalty.  She  chose 
a  way  of  praising  her  ever  adored  King  Charles  before 
King  James,  which  made  that  now  strait-laced  and 
deeply  religious  monarch  writhe  in  his  chair.  It  was 
—  "  One  day,  at  the  Duchess  of  Portsmouth's  —  he  ! 
he !  your  Majesty,  what  gay  days  we  had  at  Louisa 
Kdroualle's !  "  Or  —  "I  never  could  abide  that  Mis- 
tress Eleanor  Gwyn,  with  her  orange-girl  ways.  Your 
Majesty  never  approved  of  Nell  Gwyn,  that  I  know ; "  at 
which  King  James,  who  had  been  no  Puritan  himself  in 
those  days,  but  who  had  repented,  hummed  and  ha'd, 
and  glanced  uneasily  around  him,  and  fancied  a  lurking 
smile  on  every  face.  And  so  the  King,  after  speaking  to 
her,  usually  made  haste  to  get  out  of  her  company. 
To-night  he  pleaded  pressing  business  in  his  closet,  and 
retired  from  the  face  of  his  tormentor.  The  Queen 
remained,  and  a  certain  Scotch  gentleman,  who  played 
a  good  fiddle  offered  to  play  for  the  dancing  of  those 
present.  A  recruit  was  found  in  the  person  of  another 
gentleman,  who  played  the  viol  da  gamba ;  so  they  had 
an  impromptu  little  ball,  the  Queen  looking  on  smilingly 
from  her  chair  at  the  top  of  the  room.  There  were  jigs 
and  reels  and  rigadoons,  the  Scotch  and  Irish  gentlemen 
excelling  in  these  merry  dances.  Roger,  who  was  a  fine 
dancer,  fairly  rivalled  them  and  altogether  distanced 
even  the  Scotch  and  Irish  in  the  minuet  de  la  cour.  He 
had  never  seen  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia  dance  any  of 
these  informal  dances,  but  to-night  she  did  jig  and  reel, 
rigadoon  and  strathspey  with  an  incomparable  merriment 
and  grace.  Roger  had  the  anguish  to  see  General 
Buchan  take  her  hand  for  the  minuet,  and  in  conse- 
quence he  retired  and  sulked  in  a  corner. 

It  was  known  that  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  and 
16  225 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Michelle  were  leaving  the  next  morning  for  Orlamunde, 
and  that  Berwick  and  Roger  Egremont  were  to  go  Rhine- 
wards  with  them.  There  was  keen  curiosity  to  know 
why  the  ladies  should  go  to  Orlamunde,  but  beyond  the 
fact  that  they  went  at  the  request  of  the  French  King, 
no  information  was  to  be  had.  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia 
simply  declined  to  be  pumped.  Madame  de  Beaumanoir 
frankly  admitted  she  knew  nothing  about  it,  except 
that  all  her  expenses  were  paid,  and  she  should  not  stay 
a  day  at  Orlamunde  longer  than  she  pleased  —  if  she  had 
to  risk  a  lettre  de  cachet  by  returning  home. 

All  last  things  are  sad;  Roger  could  not  but  think 
Michelle's  merriment  put  on,  with  her  peach-colored 
satin  gown,  and  pearl  chain.  At  last,  however,  it  was 
time  to  go  home  ;  the  gentlemen  fiddlers  grew  tired  of 
fiddling.  The  King  sent  for  Roger  Egremont  into  the 
royal  closet,  where  he  found  Berwick  and  the  Queen. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you  to  say  good-bye  and  God-speed 
to  you,  Mr.  Egremont,"  he  said.  "  The  Duke  of  Berwick 
has  my  instructions.  If  I  should  never  see  you  more, 
remember  I  am  your  King  and  father,  and  have  ever 
found  in  you  a  good  and  dutiful  subject  and  son." 

And  Roger,  on  his  knee,  kissed  the  hands  of  the  King 
and  Queen,  and  sent  his  duty  to  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
and  professed  himself  ready  to  die  for  the  rights  of  his 
master,  if  dying  could  help  them.  The  Queen  too 
thanked  him,  bending  upon  him  those  glorious  Italian 
eyes  of  hers,  once  so  proud  and  laughing,  and  now  so 
serene  and  full  of  sorrow  majestically  borne.  Roger  rose 
and  backed  out  of  the  royal  presence,  leaving  Berwick 
behind,  who  made  him  an  unseen  motion  with  his  thumb, 
which  was  the  magic  signal  for  a  night  at  the  inn  of 
Michot. 

Roger  left  the  palace,  and  walked  fast  through  the 

•22Q 


Ho  !    For  Orlamunde 

town,  under  the  white  moon  and  stars,  toward  the  inn, 
—  the  last  evening  there  too.  As  usual  at  that  hour, 
there  was  great  commotion  in  the  common  room ;  and 
as  Roger  entered  the  great  door  and  passed  Madame 
Michot,  on  her  platform,  a  boyish  figure  ran  forward 
and  clasped  him  —  it  was  Dicky. 

"Ah,  my  lad,  I  thought  you  would  not  let  me  get 
away  without  seeing  me,"  cried  Roger,  delightedly. 

"  For  sure,  I  would  not,  Roger,"  replied  Dicky,  "  but 
you  know  I  can't  come  and  go  like  you  gentlemen  of  the 
sword.     I  have  to  get  permission  from  my  superiors." 

"  So  do  we,"  said  Roger,  laughing,  and  drawing  Dicky 
toward  the  punch  bowl,  which  Ogilvie  the  Irish  gentle- 
man, was  stirring  something  in,  vigorously ;  "  I  know 
of  monstrous  few  men  who  don't  have  to  ask  some 
one's  consent  for  all  they  do.  But  now  that  you  are 
here,  Dicky  boy,  you  shall  make  a  night  of  it,  and  you 
can  have  from  now  until  Christmas  to  do  penance." 

The  gentleman  with  the  fiddle  entered  then,  and  then 
began  one  of  the  great  joys  of  the  Jacobites,  the  singing 
of  songs  to  the  confusion  of  their  enemies.  The  weaker 
party  must  have  its  revenge,  sure ;  and  the  revenge  of 
the  Jacobites  was  to  make  the  finest  songs  ever  sung, 
some  of  them  full  of  wild  longings  for  their  country, 
and  trolled  forth  with  moist  eyes,  and  choking  of  the 
throats  of  men ;  others,  shouted  out,  proclaiming  ever- 
lasting constancy  to  their  King,  and  a  willingness  to  do 
and  die  for  him ;  others  again,  a  roar  of  vengeance 
against  traitors  and  ingrates,  robbers  and  despoilers, —  no 
epithet  was  vile  enough  for  William  of  Orange,  no 
scathing  contempt  bitter  enough  for  the  ungrateful 
daughters  of  the  King, —  and  sung  with  a  fervor  that 
came  from  the  souls  of  all  who  sang,  and  went  to  the 
souls  of  all  who  listened.      At  the  choruses  every  man 

227 


The  House  of  Egremont 

joined  in,  whether  he  could  sing  musically  or  not ;  at 
least  he  could  stand  upon  his  legs,  and  shout  out  the 
sentiments  which  filled  his  heart.  Poor  souls ;  it  was  all 
the  revenge  they  had,  unless  it  was  to  see  William  of 
Orange  having  his  own  troubles  with  his  English  parlia- 
ment; Mary,  his  wife,  wretched  and  jealous,  dying  pre- 
maturely, and  at  enmity  with  all  of  the  same  blood  as 
herself ;  poor  foolish  Anne,  mourning  the  loss  of  her 
many  children,  and  of  her  husband,  and  on  her  death- 
bed vainly  crying  out,  begging  that  the  justice  she  re- 
fused her  brother  should  be  done  him.  The  Stuarts, 
too,  were  an  unhappy  race,  but  it  is  remarkable  that 
they  all  knew  how  to  make  their  exit,  and  had  always 
some  one  to  weep  for  them  as  they  lay  a-dying. 

The  evening  was  exactly  like  many  those  same  men 
had  spent  in  that  same  place,  but  it  was  the  last. 
When,  at  the  end,  they  all  stood  up  and  roared  out  their 
last  song,  it  was  to  dub  their  company  "the  Devil's 
Own,"  —  a  name  not  wholly  inappropriate ;  and  then,  in 
the  midst  of  the  carousing  and  shouting,  it  came  over 
them  that  it  was  their  last  evening  in  that  hospitable 
place ;  they  grew  suddenly  quiet  as  they  drank  to  the 
King,  and  afterward  went  soberly  off. 

Roger  and  Dicky  went  up  to  the  garret,  where  a  rude 
pallet  was  spread  on  the  floor  for  Dicky. 

They  sat  late,  talking,  looking  out  upon  the  river  and 
the  valley,  until  the  moon,  faint  and  pallid,  sank  out  of 
sight,  and  the  earth  grew  dark,  while  the  heavens  were 
bright  with  stars. 

Roger  told  all  of  his  affairs  to  Dicky,  even  of  the 
journey  all  the  way  to  Orlamunde,  —  all,  that  is,  except 
the  most  important ;  and  that  was  his  deep  and  hopeless 
passion  for  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia;  but  this,  Dicky 
guessed  for  himself. 

228 


Ho  !    For  Orlamunde 

"  And,  Roger,  do  you  know  it  is  quite  possible  that  I 
may  be  ordained  and  go  to  England  before  you  come 
back  ?  "  said  Dicky.  This  meant  that  he  might  face  im- 
prisonment and  death  before  they  should  meet  again. 

"  I  cannot  gainsay  thee,  boy,"  said  Roger,  kindly ; 
"you  ever  had  an  adventurous  spirit, — 'tis  too  much 
like  my  own  for  me  to  rebuke  it,  although  you  wear  a 
gown  and  I  a  sword.  And,  Dicky,  forget  not  poor  Bess 
Lukens ;  though  why  should  I  call  her  poor  ?  She  hath 
now  more  pounds  than  we  have  shillings,  I  dare  say,  and 
seems  singularly  happy  and  content.  She  values  our 
friendship,  and  I  think  she  likes  to  say  the  Egremonts 
are  her  friends.  She  does  not  realize  how  little  our 
service  is  worth,  poor  and  exiled  as  we  are.  Pray, 
when  you  can  get  leave,  go  and  see  her. 

"  Indeed  I  will ;  I  never  saw  an  honester  creature  in 
all  my  life  than  that  girl." 

Dicky  knew  nothing  of  man's  love  for  woman,  except 
by  observation,  but  he  saw  that  Roger  Egremont  was 
not  in  the  least  in  love  with  Red  Bess.  Then  they  lay 
down  to  rest ;  Roger's  last  conscious  sight  was  of  Dicky 
kneeling  and  praying  very  earnestly  by  the  unshuttered 
window. 

"  Pray  for  me,  Dicky,"  he  said  sleepily,  and  in  another 
moment  he  was  walking  in  the  forest  with  Michelle, 
who  put  her  hand  in  his  and  told  him  she  was  going  to 
Orlamunde  to  marry  him,  and  kissed  him  with  great 
delight. 

At  daylight  he  was  awakened  by  Dicky,  fully  dressed 
in  his  seminarist's  gown. 

"  Get  up,  Roger.  I  am  now  going  to  have  Merrylegs 
fed,  and  your  breakfast  will  be  waiting, —  you  have  less 
than  an  hour  to  sunrise." 

The  sun  was  just  tipping  the  tops  of  the  half-bare 

229 


The  House  of  Egremont 

trees  with  golden  light,  when  Roger  and  Dicky  reached 
the  edge  of  the  forest,  where  they  were  to  meet  Berwick 
and  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  party.  They  walked, 
Dicky  with  his  black  robe  tucked  up,  and  his  light-blue, 
laughing,  honest  eyes  shining  under  his  berretta,  Roger 
leading  Merrylegs,  on  whom  was  strapped  a  small  port- 
manteau, which  contained  all  the  worldly  possessions  of 
the  head  of  the  house  of  Egremont.  This  included  the 
little  bag  of  earth  from  Egremont,  without  which  Roger 
had  never  slept  a  single  night  since  that  last  night  at 
his  home,  nearly  four  years  before.  They  soon  reached 
the  appointed  place  of  meeting,  on  the  forest's  edge,  and 
Berwick,  ever  the  most  punctual  of  men,  was  on  the 
spot  as  soon  as  they  were.  He  rode  a  fine  gray  gelding, 
and  his  servant  was  riding  another  horse,  and  leading 
a  packhorse,  upon  which  he  nimbly  strapped  Roger  s 
little  portmanteau.  And  in  another  minute  there  was  a 
great  rattling  of  wheels  and  trampling  of  hoofs  heard  on 
the  road  from  the  chateau,  where  it  touched  the  highroad 
and  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  equipage  came  in  sight. 

It  was  a  cavalcade.  First  came  the  berline  of  the 
Duchess.  She  had  fought  hard  to  travel  in  her  great 
gilt  coach,  but  the  impossibility  of  getting  it  through 
the  passes  of  the  Vosges  daunted  even  her  high  spirit. 
The  berline  was  horsed  with  only  a  pair,  but  behind  the 
baggage  wagon  which  followed,  were  led  two  other 
horses.  The  baggage  wagon  contained  the  maitre 
d'hotel,  a  footman  who  acted  as  coachman,  and  a  couple 
of  lady's-maids.  Behind  all  rode  Frangois  Delaunay, 
glad  to  escape  from  the  berline  and  the  company  of 
his  benefactors;  and  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia  rode  be- 
side him. 

She  wore  a  black  riding-suit  with  a  black  hat,  under 
which  her  dark  eyes  were  lustrous.     She  rode  with  in- 

280 


Ho!    For  Orlamunde 

comparable  grace,  and  as  her  delicate  figure  was  out- 
lined against  the  bright  sky  of  sunrise,  Roger  thought 
he  had  never  seen  her  look  so  handsome.  He  remem- 
bered that  she  was  not  always  handsome,  but  when 
she  bloomed,  as  it  were,  she  shone  with  a  dazzling  and 
brilliant  beauty  which  was  a  charming  surprise. 

Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  sitting  in  solitary  state  in 
the  berline  had  a  long  cane  with  a  jewelled  head  to  it 
in  her  hand,  with  which  she  prodded  the  bewigged 
coachman  and  footman  who  sat  upon  the  box.  As 
soon  as  the  party  drew  up  she  began  to  screech, — 

"  Here  I  am,  my  lads.  This  dull  court  was  dull 
enough  at  best ;  but  after  you,  Berwick,  and  Mr.  Egre- 
mont  and  I  go  away,  'twill  be  like  a  dissenters'  meet- 
ing, —  the  sort  my  nephew  Francois  would  frequent  if  I 
would  let  him." 

Frangois  bore  this  gibe  with  meekness,  and  Berwick 
engaging  the  old  lady  in  conversation,  Roger  had  a 
chance  to  speak  with  Michelle,  who  had  drawn  up  her 
horse  by  the  roadside. 

"  Do  you  contemplate  making  much  of  the  journey 
a-horseback,  mademoiselle  ?  "  asked  Roger. 

"  All  of  it,  Mr.  Egremont,"  replied  Michelle,  promptly. 
"  You  may  remember,  the  second  time  we  met,  I  told 
you  that  I  longed  to  ride  by  night  and  day,  and  to 
know  how  it  feels  to  sleep  with  the  earth  for  a  bed  and 
the  sky  for  a  roof." 

When  a  woman  recollects,  a  year  after,  what  she  said 
to  a  man  the  second  time  she  met  him,  that  man  may 
count  on  her  having  a  singular  regard  for  him.  And 
Roger  Egremont,  who  was  not  unlearned  in  women, 
felt  his  pulses  tingle  when  she  spoke.  He  suspected 
it  was  an  inadvertence,  but  it  was  not  less  delicious  on 
that  account. 

231 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Michelle  spoke  kindly  to  Dicky,  who  had  seen  her 
many  times  before,  but  whose  youth  and  profession  and 
lack  of  consequence  had  made  him  keep  his  distance. 

"  I  wish  you  good  fortune,"  she  said  smilingly.  "  I 
know  not  when  1  shall  see  France  again,  but  I  shall 
hope  to  see  you  then." 

"  I  rather  hope,  madam,"  replied  Dicky,  blushing  very 
much,  "  that  we  shall  meet  again  in  England." 

Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  catching  sight  of  Dicky, 
called  out,  — 

"So  that's  the  young  Egremont  who  is  to  be  a  Jesuit, 
and  to  go  to  England  to  be  hanged  for  it." 

"  A  man  can  die  but  once,"  answered  Dicky,  very 
readily,  but  blushing  still  more ;  "  and  if  I  am  to  be 
hanged,  I  feel  sure  an  English  hangman  would  do  the 
job  better,  in  less  time,  and  in  a  manner  more  becoming 
a  gentleman,  than  a  hangman  of  any  other  country 
whatever." 

"  Why,  boy,"  cried  the  old  Duchess,  "  I  did  not 
dream  your  black  berretta  had  so  much  wit  under  it ; 
and  you  are  comely  too,  like  the  Egremonts  —  too 
comely  for  a  priest.  Cast  off  that  black  robe,  and  be 
a  cavalier,  and  marry  some  charming  girl  with  a  for- 
tune." 

To  which  Dicky  had  enough  of  the  ineffable  im- 
pudence of  the  Egremonts  to  reply, — 

"  Alas,  madam,  the  lady  who  might  win  me  from 
my  vocation  is  far  above  me,  being  a  Duchess,  and, 
although  still  young,  is  older  than  I  — "  at  which 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir  screeched  with  delight,  and 
Roger  made  a  note  in  his  pocket-book. 

"  Mem. :  To  write  to  Mr.  Richard  Egremont's  superior 
at  Clermont  and  say  that  Mr.  Egremont  shows  signs  of 
abandoning  his  profession." 

232 


Ho!    For  Orlamunde 

"  You  should  hear  him  fiddle,  and  hear  him  sing ; 
no  lark  ever  had  a  sweeter  note,"  said  Berwick.  At 
this  the  old  lady  declared  she  must  and  should  take 
Dicky  by  force  to  Orlamunde. 

It  was,  however,  time  then  to  start.  Dicky  bowed 
low  to  the  ladies,  and  Francois  wrung  Berwick's  hand, 
and  Dicky  and  Roger  hugged  each  other  like  a  couple 
of  schoolboys.  Roger  sprung  on  Merrylegs,  and  Dicky 
disappeared  into  the  forest.  By  running  fast  he  could 
reach  a  point  where  the  highroad  was  visible  and  he 
could  see  his  more  than  brother  once  more. 

There  seemed  nothing  to  delay  the  moving  of  the 
cavalcade,  but  yet  no  move  was  made.  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir  explained  the  hitch  in  a  manner  very 
unlike  her  usual  careless  merriment.  She  said,  quite 
grimly,  — 

"  I  must  await  the  letter  containing  the  precious 
secret  of  the  King  of  France.  A  secret  forsooth  !  As 
if  all  the  kings  of  France  could  keep  me  from  finding 
it  out  I  Your  politicians  are  ever  as  blind  as  bats. 
They  never  dream  that  any  one  can  find  out  anything !  " 

Just  then  a  great  dust  was  seen  on  the  highroad 
from  Marly,  and  a  gentleman  on  a  briskly  galloping 
horse  rode  up  to  them.  It  was  Monsieur  de  Senndcy, 
one  of  the  gentlemen  in  attendance  on  the  French  King. 
He  dismounted,  and  taking  from  his  pocket  two  letters, 
addressed  and  sealed  by  the  French  King,  he  handed 
one  to  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  and  the  other  to  the 
Princess  Michelle.  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  received 
hers  singularly  for  a  person  to  receive  a  letter  from  the 
Grand  Monarque.  She  turned  the  letter  over  slowly, 
her  usually  merry,  keen  old  face  quite  grave,  and 
looking  full  at  Michelle  broke  the  seal.  There  were 
only  a   few   lines,    which  she    read  at  a  glance   and 

233 


The  House  of  Egremont 

then,  turning  to  Michelle  and  then  to  Berwick,  said, 
meaningly,  — 

"  As  if  I  did  not  know  it !  Well  —  may  no  harm 
come  of  it." 

Michelle  held  her  letter  in  her  hand,  and  grew  ashy 
pale,  fingering  it  instead  of  opening  it. 

"  You  know  the  contents,  mademoiselle  ?  "  said  Mon- 
sieur de  Senn^cy,  in  a  surprised  voice.  Michelle's 
pallor  and  agitation  could  not  be  overlooked. 

"  Certainly,  monsieur,"  replied  Michelle,  with  an 
effort ;  and  then,  with  a  supreme  struggle,  she  regained 
her  composure,  opened  the  letter,  which  was  a  long  one, 
read  it  through  steadily,  kissed  the  King's  signature  at 
the  end,  and  then  looking  up,  fixed  her  eyes  on  Roger 
Egremont,  although  she  spoke  to  Monsieur  de  Senn^cy. 

"  Say  to  the  King  that  all  his  commands  shall  be 
strictly  fulfilled  — and  I  am  his  dutiful  subject." 

As  Michelle's  eyes  sought  him,  Roger  Egremont  had 
a  strange  sensation,  and  moreover,  he  was  vexed  and 
uncomfortable  at  being  the  only  person  in  the  party 
who  was  not  in  the  secret.  Berwick's  face  was  in- 
scrutable; the  French  gentleman  looked  a  little  sur- 
prised at  the  way  his  communications  had  been  received, 
and  somewhat  haughtily  bowed  as  he  remounted, 
wishing  them  a  pleasant  journey.  The  old  Duchess 
screamed  after  him,  '*  Tell  your  master  that  I  am  going 
to  Orlamunde  for  my  own  pleasure,  and  I  shall  not  stay 
a  day  longer  than  it  pleases  me,  if  I  am  put  in  the  Bas- 
tile  for  it.  I  know  he  will  never  dare  to  deliver  my 
message,"  she  added  to  her  listeners ;  and  then  they 
set  out  upon  their  journey. 


234 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  JOURNEY,  AND  SOME  CONFIDENCES  MADE  BY 
ROGER  EGREMONT  TO  THE  PRINCESS  MICHELLE. 

"  A  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day, 
Your  sad  one  tires  in  a  mile-a," 

trolled  Roger  Egremont  in  a  voice,  though  not  so  good 
as  Dicky's,  yet  highly  agreeable.  He  was  riding  by  the 
side  of  Frangois  at  the  time.  Berwick  had,  without  so 
much  as  saying,  "By  your  leave,"  attached  himself  to 
Mademoiselle  d'Orantia.  The  two  rode  in  the  lead, 
the  travelling-chaise  following,  and  Roger  and  Frangois 
came  next.  The  baggage  wagon  and  servants  were 
quite  in  the  rear.  To  start  out  in  the  dewy  fresh- 
ness of  a  spring  morning,  on  a  good  horse,  upon  an 
adventurous  journey,  with  the  lady  of  one's  love  in  the 
party,  is  not  a  bad  thing.  So  thought  Roger  Egremont, 
undisturbed  by  Berwick's  possession  of  Michelle.  He 
did  not  wish  to  make  too  free  with  his  company.  He 
had  art  enough  and  wit  enough  to  know  that  it  was 
well  to  make  her  ask  herself  the  reason  of  his  absence. 
They  had  been  travelling  a  good  two  hours  before 
Roger  broke  out  in  song.  At  their  first  starting  there 
had  been  something  of  uneasiness  in  the  whole  party. 
The  receipt  of  the  King's  letters  had  not  seemed  to 
elevate  either  the  Princess  Michelle  or  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir  to  the  pitch  of  joy.  Berwick  had  jogged 
along  looking  even  soberer  than  usual.  Even  Francois's 
foolish    face   was    clouded.      Roger  was    annoyed    at 

235 


The  House  of  Egremont 

being  the  only  one  in  the  party  who  was  left  out  of 
some  sort  of  information  or  arrangement,  —  he  knew 
not  exactly  what,  and  had  no  vulgar  curiosity  to  know, 
—  but  not  to  know  made  him  feel  like  an  interloper. 
However,  the  sweet  spring  day,  the  motion,  the  exercise, 
helped  to  put  each  one  in  tune,  and  when  Roger  trolled 
forth  his  song,  waking  the  woodland  echoes,  every  one 
wore  a  cheerful  face,  and  had  a  composed  spirit.  There 
is  no  such  soother  of  perturbed  minds  as  a  good  horse, 
on  which  to  traverse  the  King's  highway,  fair  and  free. 

They  made  rapid  progress,  the  roads  being  good,  and 
skirting  Paris  without  passing  through  it,  found  them- 
selves at  noonday  on  the  side  of  the  town  opposite  to 
St.  Germains.  They  chose  to  stop  in  a  pretty  wooded 
place,  rather  than  at  an  inn  for  dinner,  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir  having  brought  a  huge  lot  of  provisions 
along.  Her  cook,  however,  —  an  incomparable  artist,  — 
had  been  left  behind  on  a  plea  of  illness;  a  plea  which 
did  not  impress  his  mistress  with  its  sincerity.  She  was 
therefore  obliged  to  satisfy  herself  with  the  services  of 
her  maitre  d'hotel  and  the  footman.  These  two  pro- 
ceeded to  lay  a  white  table-cloth  on  the  ground,  and  set 
forth  a  dinner  that  made  the  travellers'  hearts  rejoice ; 
all  except  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  who  bemoaned  that 
when  they  had  got  to  the  end  of  their  home  supplies 
she  should  not  again  have  a  decent  meal  until  she  re- 
turned to  her  own  chateau  and  the  recalcitrant  cook. 
She  even  threatened  to  send  back  for  that  functionary, 
but  was  dissuaded  by  the  maitre  d'hotel  betraying  that 
the  cook  had  an  engagement  in  Paris,  and  had  sworn 
publicly  that  nothing  would  induce  him  to  again  serve 
a  house  where  there  was  a  lady  at  the  head  of  it. 

"The  ungrateful  villain!"  cried  Madame  de  Beau- 
manoir, and  proceeded  to  baste  the  cook ;  winding  up, 

236 


The  Journey  and  some  Confidences 

however,  with  the  observation  that  he  was  right,  after 
all ;  and  if  ever  she  adopted  his  profession,  she  too  would 
decline  to  serve  a  mistress. 

It  was  a  very  merry  dinner;  Michelle  laughed  and 
talked  more  than  Roger  had  ever  heard  her.  The  air 
was  unusually  mild,  even  for  the  spring,  and  they  could 
almost  feel  the  grass  growing  under  their  feet,  and  see 
the  bursting  buds.  Their  stop,  however,  was  not  long. 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir  was  determined  to  reach  Meaux 
that  night,  although  it  made  a  day  of  hard  travel.  But 
the  roads  were  good,  the  weather  fine,  the  cattle  fresh, 
and  no  one  balked  her.  They  again  took  the  highway, 
Roger  this  time  with  Michelle.  He  thought  she  would 
be  weary  and  would  wish  to  rest  in  the  travelling-chaise ; 
but  he  soon  found  that  no  old  campaigner  could  sit  a 
horse  longer  and  with  less  fatigue  than  this  delicately 
made  girl.  They  talked  gayly  together,  Michelle  de- 
scribing the  country,  of  which  she  knew  something  so 
far.  It  was  flat  and  rich  and  well  tilled.  Roger,  as  the 
case  always  was,  found  himself  bringing  into  his  talk 
something  about  the  country  at  Egremont,  until,  after 
an  hour  or  two,  Michelle,  breaking  into  laughter,  said, 

"  Mr.  Egremont,  it  is  the  seventh  time,  when  I  have 
said  a  spot,  a  stream  was  beautiful,  land  well  cultivated, 
or  anything  in  praise  of  this  country  through  which  you 
are  travelling,  that  you  have  responded,  'Madam, 
you  should  see  such  and  such  a  one  at  Egremont ! ' " 

"True,"  replied  Roger,  quite  sheepish  and  abashed. 
"  I  dare  say  I  have  made  a  fool  of  myself  about  Egre- 
mont ;  I  always  do.  But  to  tell  you  the  truth  from  my 
heart,  I  cannot  help  it.  I  never  could  see  the  forest  at 
St.  Germains  at  evening  without  thinking,  thinking, 
thinking  about  the  woods  of  Egremont,  how  they  looked 
with  the  evening  light  shining  upon  their  dark  masses. 

237 


The  House  of  Egremont 

And  if  a  bird  sang  in  a  bush  it  recalled  the  singing  of 
the  thrushes  and  blackbirds  in  the  hedges.  Nor  can  I 
look  at  a  rising  moon,  without  seeing  its  reflection  in 
the  Dark  Pool  where  the  river  widens  out,  under  the 
myrtle  bushes  and  alders  —  for  myrtle  does  actually 
grow  in  the  open  at  some  spots  in  the  path  —  and  the 
oak  avenue.  If  Hugo  Stein  has  cut  down  all  the  oaks, 
as  he  often  urged  me  to  do  —  " 

Roger  unconsciously  clenched  his  fist.  His  face  was 
so  expressive  that  Michelle  could  not  but  note  it. 
Usually  he  was  a  comely  man,  with  his  wide,  roguish, 
laughing  mouth,  white  teeth,  and  glowing  eyes  ;  but 
when  he  was  angry  he  became  positively  ugly.  How- 
ever, he  checked  himself  in  time,  saying,  — 

"Pray  pardon  a  man  who  has  not  yet  learned  to 
govern  himself  as  he  should.  And  now,  think  you  that 
you  can  ride  all  the  way  to  Meaux  ?  " 

"To  be  sure  I  can,"  replied  Michelle,  with  spirit. 
"  I  hope  Monsieur  Bossuet  will  be  there  ;  you  know  he 
is  Bishop  of  Meaux,  and  perhaps  we  may  have  the 
good  fortune  to  hear  a  sermon  from  him." 

"  And  perhaps,"  piously  added  Roger,  "  being  then 
well  into  the  champagne  country,  we  may  get  some  of 
the  best  wine  in  France.^' 

They  rode  on  steadily.  At  four  o'clock  they  again 
stopped  for  a  rest.  They  were  then  twelve  miles  from 
Meaux  ;  but  at  Meaux  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  would 
sleep.  At  five  they  again  started.  Their  last  stage 
was  made  slowly,  for  the  horses  were  tired,  and  the 
baggage  wagon  was  far  behind.  The  moon  was  high 
in  the  heavens  before  the  roofs  and  steeples  of  Meaux, 
then  a  large  city,  came  into  sight.  The  town  was  quiet 
for  the  night;  it  was  quite  eight  o'clock.  The  air  had 
grown  sharp,  and  Michelle  had  put  on  her  travelling- 

238 


The  Journey  and  some  Confidences 

mantle,  and  Roger  found  his  furred  cloak  comfortable. 
They  passed  the  huge  mass  of  the  cathedral,  standing 
nobly  and  solemnly  beautiful  in  the  moonlight.  Ber- 
wick piloted  them  to  the  chief  inn  of  the  town.  The 
approach  of  such  a  party,  and  the  incessant  clacking  of 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  tongue  waked  the  neighbor- 
hood. They  had  supper  in  a  private  room  before  a  good 
fire,  and  as  the  case  generally  is  with  travellers'  suppers,  it 
was  very  gay.  Then  they  parted  for  the  night.  Each 
one  protested  that  he  or  she,  as  it  might  be,  was  per- 
fectly fresh  and  ready  to  take  the  road  at  sunrise ;  but 
for  the  sake  of  the  horses,  they  deferred  their  start  until 
nine  o'clock  the  next  morning. 

Berwick  and  Roger  had  a  room  between  them  with  two 
beds ;  and  it  did  not  take  them  long  to  seek  their  rest. 

At  sunrise  next  morning  Berwick  was  wakened 
by  Roger  moving  softly  about  the  room,  dressing  him- 
self as  quietly  as  possible.  Ever  since  daylight  they 
had  heard  at  intervals  the  deep-toned  music  of  the  great 
cathedral  bells.  The  chimes  were  exquisitely  attuned, 
and  their  soft,  deep,  rich,  melodious  thunder  was  like  a 
vast  sea  of  aerial  music,  which  rose  and  fell  like  the 
waves  of  some  mighty  ocean.  The  glorious  sound  would 
arise,  filling  the  heavens  and  the  earth  with  its  majestic 
harmonies,  swelling  grandly  and  more  grandly  until  it 
seemed  to  reach  the  great  arch  of  the  sky ;  and  then  to 
melt  away,  in  the  softest,  the  sweetest,  the  most  delicate 
vibrations,  only  to  rise,  to  swell,  to  die  away  once  more. 

Roger  could  not  but  stop  sometimes  in  his  rapid 
dressing  to  listen  to  this  noble  diapason ;  but  he  had 
great  work  on  hand,  and  proceeded  with  it.  He  thought 
Berwick  was  asleep,  until  just  as  Roger  with  hat  and 
cloak  in  hand,  was  leaving  the  room,  Berwick  rolled 
over  in  his  bed  and  said  quietly, — 

239 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"  You  go  to  the  cathedral  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Roger. 

"  I  am  pretty  sure  you  will  find  her  there.  She  said 
as  much  at  supper  last  night." 

Roger  went  out  laughing. 

The  inn  was  not  far  from  the  cathedral.  The  morning 
was  fair  and  bright,  and  the  sun  lighted  up  the  dark  and 
narrow  streets.  When  he  came  to  the  cathedral  square 
the  bells  were  still  booming,  booming  thunderously.  A 
great  flight  of  birds,  hovering  around  the  gold-tipped  pin- 
nacles of  the  cathedral,  shining  in  the  glory  of  the  morn- 
ing, added  their  call  to  prayer  and  thankfulness,  and 
acknowledgment  of  the  good  God,  to  the  majestic  com- 
mand of  the  mighty  bells. 

"  Come  and  give  thanks,"  was  the  song  of  the  bells. 
"  Bring  not  into  this  sacred  place  any  repinings  against 
God,  any  ill-will  against  man.  Behold  here  the  places 
sacred  to  His  saints,  who  bore  the  utmost  malice  of  men, 
and  yet  praised  God  with  great  joy  and  much  thanks. 
And  leave  outside  all  pride  of  rank  and  estate  and  all 
shame  of  humble  condition ;  within  these  doors  all  are 
equal.     Enter." 

A  hump-backed  boy  in  a  ragged  smock  was  on  one 
side  of  the  great  open  door.  On  the  other  side  sat  a 
man  in  a  tattered  uniform  of  a  private  soldier,  but 
Roger  saw  in  his  face  and  bearing  some  ineffaceable 
mark  of  the  -gentleman  ill-treated  of  fortune.  He  re- 
membered having  often  heard  beggars  cursed,  but  he 
did  not  remember  to  have  read  any  of  those  curses  in 
the  Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ.  Roger  gave  liberally  out  of 
his  slender  purse  to  each  of  these  poor  suppliants,  call- 
ing the  boy  "  my  lad,"  and  the  old  soldier  "  my  com- 
rade." They  thanked  him  more  with  their  eyes  than 
their  tongues ;  and  glancing  up,  Roger  found  Michelle 

240 


The  Journey  and  some  Confidences 

close  by,  and  bending  upon  him  the  soft  splendor  of  her 
eyes.  He  blushed  and  smiled,  like  a  boy.  Without  a 
word  she  joined  him  and  they  entered  the  great  cathe- 
dral together. 

Mass  was  beginning,  and  the  low  voice  of  the  priest 
was  broken  by  the  delicious  clamor  of  birds  under  the 
eaves.  The  bells  having  ceased  their  might}'^  music, 
the  great  golden  voice  of  the  organ  in  the  organ-loft 
was  lifted  up  and  searched  the  arches  and  echoed 
from  the  vaulted  roof.  The  interior  of  the  cathedral 
was  all  purple  and  gold  in  the  shimmering  morning 
sunshine  ;  the  main  altar  glowed  like  fire,  and  the  side 
altars  and  the  statues  of  saints  and  martyrs  were  bathed 
in  iridescent  light,  or  else  gleamed  softly  out  of  mellow 
shadows.  The  tombs  with  their  effigies,  —  some  of  them 
of  warriors  of  the  Church  and  heroes  of  the  State,  others 
of  women,  royal  or  humble,  their  monuments  telling  the 
eternal  stoiy  of  love  and  death,  —  were  illuminated  with 
the  rays  of  the  morning ;  it  was  all  inexpressibly  lovely, 
solemn,  and  touching. 

Roger  Egremont  kneeled  on  the  bare  stone  floor  by 
Michelle's  side.  He  prayed  earnestly  for  his  own  for- 
giveness, and  asked  God  to  teach  him  how  to  forgive,  —  a 
lore  in  which  he  had  but  little  learning.  Presently,  the 
organ,  after  giving  its  praise  joyfully  and  majestically, 
became  a  murmur  of  music,  like  the  echo  of  the  wind 
among  the  trees,  and  then  was  stilled.  The  little  bell 
tinkled,  and  there  was  the  awful  and  solemn  moment  of 
the  Sacrifice. 

Roger  Egremont  bent  his  head  to  the  ground  and 
asked  that  God  would  be  merciful  to  him,  a  sinner. 
And  contemplating  all  His  mercies,  Roger  became  lost 
in  love  and  adoration,  and  had  one  moment,  one  brief 
moment,  in  which  he  saw  as  far  as  man  can  see,  into 
16  241 


The  House  of  Egremont 

the  depths  of  God's  perfect  goodness,  His  tender  love 
for  all  His  children,  His  willingness  to  forgive,  His 
fatherly  call  to  repentance ;  and  Roger  Egremont  humbly 
besought  his  Maker  to  make  him  a  better  man.  Then, 
after  the  sweet  silence  all  over  the  vast  church,  the 
organ  pealed  forth  again  in  a  shout  of  music  and  glad- 
ness, and  the  air  about  him  quivered  and  throbbed 
with  the  anthem  of  praise.  And  looking  up,  he  saw 
Michelle's  eyes  fixed  upon  him  with  a  look  he  never 
forgot  to  the  longest  day  of  his  life. 

Presently  all  was  over  and  they  went  out  into  the 
air.  As  they  passed  the  holy-water  font,  Michelle  took 
some  in  her  hand,  and  after  crossing  herself,  gently 
sprinkled  a  few  drops  on  Roger  Egremont.  He  felt  it 
as  a  conseci'ation. 

When  they  were  again  together  on  the  street,  in  the 
bright  sunshine,  Roger  felt  strangely  happy.  He  looked 
at  Michelle,  expecting  to  see  happiness  reflected  in  her 
eyes.  Instead  he  saw  only  misery.  A  sudden  change 
had  come  over  her.  She  looked  unhappy  and  listless, 
and  in  place  of  the  light,  quick  step  with  which  she 
had  entered  the  cathedral,  she  was  languid  and  walked 
with  her  eyes  on  the  ground.  It  was  like  a  cold  douche 
to  Roger  Egremont,  glowing  with  enthusiasm  and  melt- 
ing emotions. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  to  her  humbly.  "  It  is  yet 
early  —  but  seven  of  the  cathedral  clock.  There  is  a 
plenty  of  time  for  a  walk." 

"No,  I  must  return  to  the  inn  at  once.  I  am  not 
used  to  being  out  alone.     I  cannot  walk  with  you." 

This  prudishness  upon  the  part  of  a  woman  who  was 
half  English,  and  who  had  an  independence  that 
marked  her  among  all  the  women  he  had  ever  known, 
surprised  and   chilled    Roger,      He   said   not  another 

242 


The  Journey  and  some  Confidences 

word,  but  escorting  her  back  to  the  inn,  and  into  the 
courtyard,  left  her,  with  a  ceremonious  bow. 

He  went  for  his  walk,  but  the  sun  did  not  shine 
so  bright,  and  he  thought  the  birds  clamorous,  and  he 
met  many  beggars,  to  none  of  whom  he  gave  any- 
thing. He  realized  that  he  was  not  so  good  a  man 
away  from  the  woman  he  loved  as  with  her,  —  however 
hopeless  that  love  might  be. 

At  nine  o'clock  they  set  forth,  and  travelled  half 
the  distance  to  fipernay,  a  short  day's  travel.  Made- 
moiselle d'Orantia  still  rode  her  horse,  but  she  did 
not  ride  alone  with  Roger  Egremont  any  that  day. 
Either  Berwick  was  on  one  side  of  her,  or  Frangois. 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  declaring  she  was  lonely,  com- 
manded Roger  to  take  a  seat  in  the  berline  with  her, 
where  she  gave  him  the  entire  history  of  every  scandal 
that  had  occurred  in  her  time  at  the  court  of  the 
blessed  King  Charles  the  Second.  In  several  of  these 
Roger's  father  figured,  and  Roger  himself,  who  had 
learned  to  hate  his  father's  memory,  yet  fumed  and 
fretted  at  being  regaled  with  stories  of  that  father's 
peccadilloes.  He  knew  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  was 
far  from  a  stupid  woman,  and  he  did  not  think  her 
malicious,  yet  she  delighted  in  telling  him  things  he 
did  not  wish  to  hear.  Presently  an  inspiration  struck 
him. 

"  Oh  ! "  he  bawled  suddenly,  drawing  up  his  leg  as 
if  cramped  with  pain.  "Madam,  my  right  leg  seems 
paralyzed.  I  think  I  never  rode  in  a  wheeled  vehicle 
so  long  before  in  my  life ! " 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  that  he  must  get  out 
and  walk  half  a  mile.  At  the  end  of  the  half-mile, 
the  berline  was  waiting  for  him,  the  footman  holding 
the   door   open.      Roger  got   in.      Madame   de    Beau- 

243 


The  House  of  Egremont 

manoir  resumed  her  stories.     Within  half  an  hour  she 
remarked,  — 

"  I  am  not  at  all  surprised  to  hear  of  the  doings  at 
play  of  the  sons  of  Mr.  Egremont  of  the  Sandhills. 
Their  father,  I  warrant  you,  was  no  saint,  nor  hero 
either.  A  more  selfish,  wrongheaded  man  —  though 
I  believe  he  was  reckoned  a  man  of  honor  —  " 

"  My  leg  1  "  exclaimed  Roger,  opening  the  chaise  door 
without  ceremony  and  jumping  out  while  the  chaise 
was  going  at  a  good  speed. 

When  next  he  got  in  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  very 
civilly  inquired  after  his  cramped  leg. 

"  Much  better,  thank  you,  madam,"  replied  Roger, 
politely.  "  A  few  steps  on  the  ground  restores  the  circu- 
lation at  once.  But  madam,  I  foresee  that  whenever  you 
tell  anything  to  the  discredit  of  my  family,  it  stops  the 
circulation  in  my  leg  as  if  you  had  tied  a  bandage  about 
it.    So  I  implore  you  to  desist  if  you  desire  my  company." 

Madame  de  Beaumanoir  was  so  pleased  with  his  effron- 
tery that  she  threatened  to  kiss  him,  which  frightened 
him  extremely. 

The  inn  they  made  that  night  was  but  a  poor  one 
in  a  small  village.  When  they  looked  at  the  dingy 
and  uninviting  room,  Michelle  said  to  Roger, — 

"  I  thought,  Mr.  Egremont,  that  we  were  to  sleep 
often  at  the  Sign  of  the  Shining  Stars,  as  you  called 
the  out-of-doors  once  to  me.  Would  that  not  be  better 
than  this  wretched  place  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Roger ;  "  but  wait  until  we  get  to  the 
mountain  passes.     We  may  have  to  do  it  then." 

"  And  I  know  I  shall  like  it,"  cried  Michelle. 

One  wretched  room  was  shared  by  Berwick  and 
Roger.  Berwick,  wrapping  himself  in  his  cloak,  said, 
"  This  is  luxury  for  a  campaigner." 

244 


The  Journey  and  some  Confidences 

Roger  had  meant  to  swear  at  the  landlord  next 
morning,  but  Berwick's  words  shamed  him  out  of  it. 

The  next  day  they  penetrated  deeper  into  the  rich 
champagne  country  toward  Epernay.  The  peasants 
were  at  work  in  the  vineyards.  They  sang  at  their 
work.  It  was  a  cheerful  sight  to  watch  them  in  the 
balmy  air,  their  harsh  voices  mellowed  by  distance. 
This  day  Roger  again  rode  with  Michelle,  and  found 
her  kind.  But  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  every  step  they 
took  from  Paris  she  lost  her  gayety  of  heart.  He  had 
ever  found  in  her  a  willingness  to  talk  and  think 
more  soberly  than  was  usual  among  her  countrywomen. 
Now,  however,  although  she  often  smiled,  she  did  not 
laugh. 

At  ^pernay,  they  fell  in  with  a  great  party  of  people 
going  to  Paris  in  company.  They  were  of  the  sur- 
rounding gentry,  and  comprised  a  number  of  those  who 
held  small  places  at  court  and  had  come  on  visits  to 
their  homes,  generally  in  search  of  money.  Hearing  that 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  party  was  at  the  principal 
inn  they  all  came  to  visit  her  in  the  evening,  and  to 
propose  they  should  spend  the  next  day  together. 
One  of  the  gentlemen,  the  Chevalier  de  Montbois,  in- 
vited them  all  to  his  ch§,teau.  Roger  was  pleased  at 
this.  He  wished  to  know  something  of  the  real 
country  life  of  France ;  he  had  only  seen  that  strange 
medley  at  St.  Germains,  the  intolerable  round  at 
Marly  and  Versailles,  and  a  little  of  Paris. 

He  was  charmed  with  his  day  at  the  chateau  of 
Montbois,  and  comparing  the  life  with  that  of  the 
same  class  in  England  secretly  thought  the  French  the 
better.  There  was  much  mild  wine  drunk,  but  all 
remained  sober.  There  was  a  light-hearted  gayety 
among   them  that    delighted  him.     They   had   dinner 

245 


The  House  of  Egremont 

served  to  a  large  company,  within  the  chateau,  and  the 
sun  being  then  very  warm  on  the  south  terrace,  they 
trooped  out  of  doors  to  dance  to  the  music  of  a  pipe 
and  tabor.  The  father  of  Monsieur  de  Montbois,  an  old 
gentleman  of  seventy,  with  snow-white  hair,  led  off  the 
dance  with  Michelle.  She  tripped  gracefully,  holding 
up  her  skirt,  and  her  high-heeled  red  shoes  leaving  their 
pretty  impress  in  the  soft  earth.  Berwick  danced  with 
dignity,  though  rather  stiffly,  being  used  to  parquet 
floors ;  Roger,  however,  who  always  appeared  well  when 
out-of-doors,  was  so  agile  and  light  of  heel  that  the  old 
Monsieur  de  Montbois  fell  in  love  with  him  and  chal- 
lenged him  to  a  trial  in  dancing.  Roger  was  artful 
enough  to  let  the  graybeard  outdance  him,  and  as  he 
leaned,  panting,  against  a  tree,  and  pleaded  more  fatigue 
than  he  really  felt,  Michelle  passing  him  whispered,  — 

"  Do  not  dance  again  for  some  time  —  else  your 
kindly  ruse  will  be  detected,"  And  then  said  out, 
aloud,  in  the  next  breath, — 

"  Mr.  Egremont,  I  know,  will  dance  with  me  now." 

"Pardon,  mademoiselle,"  exclaimed  that  arch-hypo- 
crite, "  but  Monsieur  de  Montbois  has  so  winded  me  that 
I  must  rest  during  this  next  dance.  'T  is  the  first  one 
I  ever  missed  in  my  life  because  I  could  not  do  it  — 
and  to  miss  dancing  with  you  mademoiselle  !  " 

Monsieur  de  Montbois  embraced  and  kissed  him,  cry- 
ing out,  — 

"  Oh,  brave  and  gallant  Englishman !  How  I  love 
you!" 

In  the  evening  they  returned  to  the  inn,  and  to 
a  good  supper.  Roger  began  to  find  this  journey 
more  agreeable  than  even  he  had  expected  —  and  he 
had  expected  much.  He  loved  being  out  in  the  open 
all    day,    and    the    travel     through    a    new    country 

246 


'Phe  Journey  and  some  Confidences 

charmed  him.  He  was  in  company  with  the  woman 
whose  society  most  pleased  him  of  any  on  earth,  and 
Berwick,  the  man  he  most  esteemed  and  admired  of 
any  in  the  world,  and  they  were  both  very,  very  kind 
to  him.  That  day  they  travelled  as  far  as  Ch^lons- 
sur-Marne,  It  was  but  a  short  day's  travel,  and  they 
reached  the  banks  of  the  Marne  by  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon.  Michelle  still  disdained  the  chaise,  and  pro- 
fessed her  determination  to  ride  a-horseback  all  the 
way  to  Orlamunde.  Frangois  Delaunay,  on  the  con- 
trary, grew  stiff  with  so  much  riding,  and  had  to  take 
to  the  chaise,  much  to  the  disgust  of  Madame  de  Beau- 
manoir,  who  considered  it  as  another  proof  that  he  was 
a  milksop.  The  poor  young  man,  exposed  to  the  gibes 
of  his  benefactress  in  the  chaise,  and  suffering  from  an 
ill-gaited  horse  when  he  chose  another  mode  of  travel, 
was  an  object  of  much  diversion  to  the  rest  of  the 
party. 

"It  is  well  to  harden  one's  self,  mademoiselle,"  re- 
marked Roger,  when  Michelle's  endurance  was  praised 
at  Francois's  expense.  "  The  day  may  come  when  you 
will  long  to  see  your  own  land  and  ourselves,  your  own 
friends,  before  the  time  appointed  for  you  to  return ; 
and  then  —  presto !  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  mount 
your  horse,  turn  his  nose  toward  France,  and  ride  as 
you  are  now  riding  —  and  you  will  be  there." 

Michelle,  in  reply,  turned  on  him  two  eyes,  so 
filled  with  a  sudden  fear  and  melancholy  that  Roger 
was  amazed  and  abashed. 

"  It  might  very  well  be,"  she  said.  "  I  might  desire 
to  make  my  way  back  to  France,  but  I  should  be  pur- 
sued and  brought  ignominiously  back.  No !  I  hope  I 
shall  ever  have  sense  enough  to  appear  to  submit  volun- 
tarily to  what  I  cannot  help." 

247 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Roger  was  still  more  puzzled  at  her  words.  She  and 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir  were  going  to  visit  their  rela- 
tive, the  Prince  of  Orlamunde.  No  time  was  fixed  for 
their  return,  but  no  one  had  power  to  detain  them  a  day 
longer  than  they  wished.  But  then  he  remembered  un- 
comfortably that  there  was  something  in  this  visit 
which  he  did  not  wholly  understand,  and  so  he  relapsed 
into  a  sulky  silence. 

The  sun  was  shining  on  the  broad,  bright  Marne 
when  they  reached  it.  They  had  had  no  bad  weather 
so  far.  A  boat  was  got  for  tliem,  and  it  took  three  trips 
to  transport  the  passengers,  with  the  chaise  and  baggage 
wagon.  The  saddle-horses  swam  the  stream.  When 
they  reached  the  opposite  bank,  Michelle's  horse  being 
too  wet  for  her  to  mount,  Roger  offered  his  escort  to 
walk  with  her  to  the  inn  of  the  Golden  Lion,  where 
they  were  to  stop. 

They  walked,  therefore,  from  the  river  bank  to  the 
inn,  a  considerable  distance,  through  tortuous  streets. 
It  was  not  the  same  as  walking  in  the  pleasant  country 
lanes.  The  sights  and  sounds  and  smells  were  not  in- 
viting ;  but  Roger  admired  Michelle's  calm  and  unruf- 
fled air  at  things  that  would  have  provoked  spleen  in 
most  women. 

Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  who  was  not,  after  all,  so 
young  as  she  had  been  when  she  was  a  reigning  toast 
at  the  court  of  Charles  the  Second,  retired  with  her 
woman  as  soon  as  supper  was  over.  Michelle  being 
obliged  to  go  also,  Berwick  and  Roger  spent  their  even- 
ing together,  as  they  had  usually  done  since  the  begin- 
ning of  the  journey.  Francois  did  not  give  them  much 
of  his  company,  being  usually  engaged  in  writing  down 
in  his  commonplace  book  all  his  acts  and  reflections  for 
the  day.    To-night  he  sighed  heavily,  as,  at  the  table  in 

248 


The  Journey  and  some  Confidences 

a  corner  of  the  common  room,  he  wrote,  and  then  de- 
sisted, and  then  wrote  again. 

"What  is  the  trouble,  Delaunay?"  asked  Berwick, 
flourishing  a  decanter  of  wine  in  Frangois'  direction. 
"  Come  and  be  jolly  with  a  couple  of  sinners." 

"  I  would  I  were  such  a  sinner  as  you  two,"  sighed 
Francois.  "  You  are  gentlemen  and  men  of  honor,  and 
have  no  scruples  in  the  life  you  lead.  While  I,  gentle- 
men, I  am  the  most  tormented  man  on  earth  by  that  —  " 

Francois  stopped;  he  too  was  a  man  of  honor,  and 
received  much  kindness  along  with  many  cruel  gibes 
daily  from  Madame  de  Beaumanoir.  And  Berwick  and 
Roger  grinned  heartlessly  at  him  and  urged  him  to 
drown  his  sorrows  in  drink,  and  find  surcease  of  pain  in 
play.  Frangois  shook  his  head  at  these  wicked  sugges- 
tions and  went  dejectedly  to  bed. 

There  is  a  very  noble  cathedral  at  Chalons,  and 
Roger,  putting  two  and  two  together,  determined  to 
visit  it  early  the  next  morning.  He  thought  he  could 
get  quietly  out  of  the  inn,  without  being  caught  by 
Berwick ;  but  that  sharp-eyed  soldier  called  to  him 
from  an  upper  window  as  he  passed  through  the  court- 
yard, — 

"Turn  to  the  left  for  the  cathedral.  She  has  had 
above  ten  minutes'  start  of  you." 

The  morning  was  dark,  —  the  first  unpromising  day 
since  they  had  left  St.  Germains.  Roger  walked  through 
a  hideous  black  rain  to  the  cathedral,  which  loomed 
dark  and  mysterious  through  the  veil  of  rain.  A  hand- 
ful of  worshippers  revealed  the  vastness  of  the  interior. 
Roger  had  no  difficulty  in  distinguishing  Michelle  in 
the  dusk  of  the  great  nave.  She  had  on  a  long  black 
cloak  which  enveloped  her,  and  which  she  drew  around 
her  throat,  so  that  it  almost  concealed  her  dainty  face 

249 


The  House  of  Egremont 

in  its  black  hood.  He  thought  she  was  weeping.  The 
sound  of  the  rain  descending  on  the  vaulted  roof  was 
like  thunder,  and  there  was  not  a  ray  of  light  except 
two  sparks  of  candles  on  the  high  altar,  and  the  faint 
glow  of  the  sanctuary  lamp.  Roger  Egremont  said  his 
prayers  that  morning  as  most  human  beings  do;  that  is, 
he  implored  happiness  from  the  Giver  of  all  good,  as  chil- 
dren cry  out  for  their  favorite  toy,  and  thought,  because 
he  was  very  earnest  about  it,  that  he  was  very  devout. 
Then  he  asked  forgiveness  for  his  sins  and  offered  for- 
giveness to  his  enemies  in  rather  a  lukewarm  manner,  but 
thought  himself  extremely  pious  to  do  so  at  all.  He 
had  no  sweet  unction  of  the  soul  as  at  Meaux ;  but  at 
last  some  glimmer  of  light  revealed  to  him  his  miserable 
imperfections,  the  multitude  and  vigor  of  his  bad  im- 
pulses ;  and,  as  it  always  follows,  the  sense  of  his  own 
unworthiness  raised  his  belief  that  there  was  One  in- 
finitely good,  who  desired  him  to  be  good  also.  He 
looked  at  Michelle  and  wondered  what  sins  she  had 
upon  her  conscience,  thinking  foolishly,  as  most  men 
do,  that  a  person  removed  from  the  temptations  of  war, 
women  and  liquor,  must  find  it  easy  to  be  good.  When 
the  service  was  over  Roger  was  still  kneeling,  and 
thinking  so  profoundly  of  her  that  she  thought  he  was 
praying  as  she  passed  him.  But  some  instinct  always 
revealed  to  Roger  when  she  was  near.  He  detected 
that  light  step  among  many  others  upon  the  stone  floor. 
He  rose  quickly  and  joined  her. 

As  they  walked  through  the  muddy  street  together 
Roger  suddenly  asked  her  what  prayer  was. 

"  I  can  tell  you  very  readily  what  it  is  w.o^,"  replied 
Michelle.  "  To  weary  Heaven  with  our  supplications 
for  happiness  is  not  prayer.  No  such  prayers  were 
made  in  the  garden  of  Gethsemane,  nor  upon  Calvary. " 

250 


The  Journey  and  some  Confidences 

Roger  was  abashed. 

"  I  see,"  he  said  sorrowfully,  "  that  I  do  not  yet  know 
what  it  is  to  pray." 

"  What  are  your  prayers  ? "  asked  Michelle,  very 
gently,  but  half  laughing.  Roger,  assisting  her  over 
puddles  and  trying  to  shield  her  from  the  rain  with 
his  broad  hat,  replied,  — 

"  I  think  my  first  prayers  were  that  I  might  succeed 
in  catching  my  game  ;  for,  as  you  know,  my  youth  was 
spent  in  caring  for  some  of  God's  dumb  creatures  far 
beyond  their  worth,  —  such  as  horses  and  dogs,  —  and 
mercilessly  destroying  others,  like  fishes  and  foxes. 
Then,  when  I  grew  older,  I  prayed  that  the  reign  of 
King  James  might  succeed,  —  you  see,  mademoiselle, 
I  had  a  great  stake  in  it,  being  a  staunch  supporter  of 
the  King,  —  and  then  I  demanded,  rather  than  asked, 
that  God  should  continue  me  in  health  and  prosperity. 
After  I  was  in  Newgate  gaol,  I  did  not  pray  at  all  for  a 
while,  thinking  that  the  Most  High  had  treated  me  shab- 
bily in  suffering  me  to  come  to  such  a  pass  in  defence 
of  my  King  and  country  against  the  foreigner." 

Roger  told  this  with  such  an  air  of  naivete  that 
Michelle  smiled  quite  openly. 

"  When  I  again  prayed,  it  was  that  God  would  punish 
my  enemies,  especially  Hugo  Stein,  who  calls  himself 
Hugo  Egremont.  I  can  truly  say  that  when  it  came 
to  praying  for  revenge  upon  him,  I  wrestled  in  prayer 
as  did  Jacob  with  the  angel.  Presently  I  saw  the  folly 
of  this,  and  concluded  to  leave  Hugo  Stein's  punish- 
ment in  God's  hands  —  as  I  could  not  take  it  out,  ob- 
serve —  and  meanwhile  to  do  all  that  lay  in  my  small 
powers  to  compass  Hugo's  destruction.  That  is  what 
men  call,  I  believe,  submitting  to  God's  will." 

Michelle  was  almost  laughing  now  as  she  glanced  up, 
251 


The  House  of  Egremont 

her  fair  face  looking  quite  roguish  under  her  black 
hood,  her  eyes  dancing  as  they  met  Roger's,  which 
were  comically  serious. 

The  dark  rain  was  still  pouring,  and  it  dripped 
upon  his  bare  brown  head,  with  his  long  curls  on  his 
shoulders,  and  shone  upon  his  sun-browned,  vivid  face, 
as  he  held  his  hat  to  protect  her  from  the  rain.  He 
kept  on  gravely,  — 

"  When  I  came  to  St.  Germains  I  began  to  see  — 
well,  as  you  have  said,  what  prayer  was  not.  I  could 
not  give  thanks  for  the  loss  of  my  estate,  as  the  King 
does  daily  for  the  loss  of  his  three  kingdoms.  His 
Majesty  thinks  he  led  a  wicked  life  in  his  youth, 
especially  in  breaking  his  vows  of  fidelity  to  his  wife, 
—  a  most  heinous  sin,  I  take  it,"  Roger  added  boldly, 
desiring  the  approval  of  the  lady  in  whose  sweet  com- 
pany he  was  at  that  moment ;  "  but  I  reckon  myself 
to  have  led  a  clean  and  gentlemanly  life  when  I  was 
in  the  enjoyment  of  Egremont.  Most  of  my  sins  came 
from  the  losing  of  it ;  so  I  have  no  reason  to  give  thanks 
for  that  loss.  But  of  late  when  I  go  into  a  church  or 
a  chapel,  and  kneel  down  to  pray,  I  think  less  of  my 
grievances,  and  more  of  the  perfections  of  the  good 
God.  My  injuries  seem  but  small  to  what  Christ  en- 
dured. I  am  far,  very  far  off  from  praying  well,  but  I 
do  not  pray  so  ill  as  I  once  did  —  and  oh,  mademoiselle, 
what  a  fool  you  must  think  me  for  telling  you  all 
this !  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  Michelle,  in  a  soft,  low  voice. 
They  were  then  passing  through  a  public  square,  under 
trees  which  shielded  them  a  little  from  the  rain,  and 
they  seemed  alone  and  far  from  the  rest  of  the  world. 
"  All  human  beings,  I  know,  go  along  the  road  you  have 
described  —  women,  more  than  men ;  for  we  lead  such 

252 


The  Journey  and  some  Confidences 

interior  lives,  we  dwell  so  much  with  our  thoughts 
and  our  feelings  and  our  prayers,  that  they  are  more 
to  us  than  the  same  things  are  to  men.  All  I  ask  for 
now  is  that,  knowing  my  duty,  I  may  do  it,  that  no 
human  being  may  ever  be  wronged  by  me,  no  matter 
how  great  my  malice  against  him  may  be,  and  that 
I  may  have  the  privilege  to  suffer  in  place  of  those 
whom  I  love." 

"  And  whom  do  you  love  as  much  as  that,  mademoi- 
selle ?  "  suddenly  asked  Roger. 

Michelle  looked  at  him  with  startled  eyes.  She 
stopped  still  in  the  path.  Roger,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
her,  read  her  like  an  open  book.  Whom,  indeed,  did 
she  love  ?  She  had  neither  father  nor  mother,  brother 
nor  sister.  The  tie  was  strong  between  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir  and  herself  despite  their  unlikeness  —  there 
had  been  kindness  on  the  one  side,  gratitude  on  the 
other ;  but  not  the  affection  which  asks  to  be  sacrificed 
for  the  beloved  object.  There  was  Fran§ois,  a  good 
fellow,  and  she  had  friends,  but  — 

"  I  perceive,"  she  said  presently,  "  that  I  have  de- 
ceived myself.     I  am  poorer  than  I  thought." 

"  You  mean,  mademoiselle,"  said  Roger,  deferentially, 
"  that  some  day  you  hope  to  love  so  deeply  and  truly 
that  you  can  in  truth  make  that  prayer  to  suffer." 

"  No,"  replied  Michelle,  quietly,  and  walking  on,  "  I 
neither  hope  nor  expect  that.  My  prayer  was  foolish 
and  insincere,  —  far  more  foolish  and  insincere  than 
any  prayer  you  ever  made  in  your  life." 

They  walked  on  without  uttering  a  word  more.  The 
morning,  dark  and  dismal  before,  seemed  to  have  grown 
a  thousand  times  worse  to  Roger  Egremont.  Chalons 
he  thought  the  dirtiest  town  in  the  world ;  he  won- 
dered  the   King   did  not   make   the    citizens   keep   it 

253 


The  House  of  Egremont 

cleaner.  A  man  was  a  fool  to  let  the  love  of  a  woman 
lodge  in  his  heart,  —  to  be  made  wretched  one  moment 
by  a  chance  word  and  joyful  the  next,  for  nothing  at 
all.  Thus,  discontented  and  unhappy,  he  reached  the 
inn.  Michelle  disappeared  to  change  her  wet  clothes. 
Francois,  meeting  him  in  the  courtyard,  said  that 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir  would  not  start  until  the 
weather  cleared. 

"  I  cannot  stand  this  infernal  inn  this  whole  day,'' 
cried  Roger,  —  it  was  a  remarkably  good  inn,  —  "I 
shall  ride  ahead  as  far  as  Vitry ;  I  may  go  on  to 
Bar-sur-Aube.  I  shall  order  my  horse.  Make  my 
apologies  to  the  ladies,  and  say  I  wiU  rejoin  them  on 
the  road." 

He  called  to  the  ostler  to  fetch  Merrylegs  from  the 
stables,  and  then  went  in  search  of  breakfast  and  Ber- 
wick. He  got  his  breakfast,  and  then,  Berwick  strolling 
into  the  common  room,  Roger  told  him  of  his  intention 
to  ride  ahead. 

"You  will  have  enough  of  this  in  the  campaign,'* 
coolly  remarked  Berwick ;  "  for  my  part,  I  shall  keep 
my  cloak  dry  whenever  I  can.  If  you  go  on  to  Bar, 
leave  word  at  the  Three  Roses  in  Vitry." 

Roger  set  forth.  The  rain  still  poured,  but  he  felt  it 
not.  He  was  in  motion  and  out  of  doors ,  that  always 
made  his  misfortunes  seem  lighter.  He  rode  ahead 
steadily,  and  Merrylegs,  who  had  proved  himself 
worthy  of  his  name,  showed  no  lack  of  energy  in 
taking  the  road  before  him.  Every  mile  Roger  put  be- 
tween himself  and  Chalons,  he  was  less  heavy-hearted. 
Lovers*  pangs  are  sharp,  but  singularly  curable  as  long 
as  the  lady  remains  unmarried.  At  last,  just  as  he  saw 
the  old  castle  rising  on  the  hill  at  Vitry,  the  sun  came 
out  gloriously.     He  thought  he  would  not  go  on  to  Bar. 

254 


The  Journey  and  some  Confidences 

He  turned  around  and  had  half  a  mind  to  ride  back 
toward  Chalons,  but  mercy  for  his  good  Merrylegs 
restrained  him. 

He  rode  into  the  little  town,  put  up  his  horse  at  the 
Three  Roses,  and  then  went  for  a  walk  around  the  old 
castle.  It  was  the  loveliest  of  all  the  lovely  days  they 
had  yet  had  upon  their  journey.  The  face  of  nature 
was  newly  washed,  the  trees  were  putting  on  their 
new  green  liveries  for  the  festal  time  of  spring.  The 
sun  shone  out  with  a  generous  and  penetrating  ardor 
that  warmed  the  whole  earth  and  all  the  people  on 
it.  The  gray  old  castle  basked  in  the  noonday  light. 
Roger  Egreraont  wandered  over  it  and,  standing  on  the 
ancient  parapet  under  the  deep  blue  sky,  saw  all  the 
beauty  around  him  —  and  could  enjoy  none  of  it, 
because  Michelle  was  not  there. 


255 


CHAPTER  XII 

"YOU  HAVE  BROUGHT  ME  TO  THE  GATE  OF  PARADISE 
AND  HAVE  SHOWN  ME  THE  GLORY  OF  THE 
BEAUTY  WITHIN  —  AND  THEN  HAVE  THRUST  ME 
AWAY  !  " 

THE  party  did  not  leave  Chalons  until  the  sun  had 
come  out,  which  was  after  midday.  Berwick, 
as  usual,  rode  with  Michelle.  She  trusted  and  admired 
him  as  all  discerning  women  did,  and  often  asked  her- 
self if  the  little  Prince  of  Wales  would  ever  be  half  the 
man  his  tall,  taciturn,  half-brother  was.  And  Berwick, 
knowing,  as  Roger  did  not,  what  was  before  her,  felt  for 
her  a  profound  pity  and  esteem. 

"  We  shall  have  but  a  short  day's  journey,"  she  said, 
when  the  spires  of  Chalons  had  melted  from  their  view 
and  they  were  riding,  a  little  in  advance  of  the  chaise, 
on  a  good  highroad. 

"  But,"  she  added,  "  I  think  I  do  not  care  how  short 
the  day's  journey  is,  for  it  makes  the  time  longer  that 
I  shall  be  in  France.  I  never  knew  how  much  I  loved 
my  country  until  I  made  ready  to  leave  it." 

"'Tis  the  best  country  in  the  world  to  strangers," 
cried  Berwick,  gallantly,  "  but,  mademoiselle,  no  coun- 
try is  like  one's  own.  The  bread  which  is  given  to 
exiles,  albeit  the  kindest  and  readiest  hand  in  the 
world  that  gives  it,  has  ever  a  bitter  taste.  The  clothes 
that  are  bought  with  another's  money  never  have  any 

256 


To  the  Gate  of  Paradise 

warmth  in  them.     If  it  were  not  for  hope  all  of  us  at 
St.  Germains  would  have  died  long  ago.'' 

"You  at  St.  Germains  have  not  so  tiresome  a  time 
as  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  at  Marly,"  said  Michelle, 
smiling.  "  At  least  you  have  the  unchanging  favor  of 
your  King.  At  Marly  every  one  wants  something  and 
works  —  how  they  work  1  —  for  it.  In  winter's  cold 
and  summer's  heat,  in  illness,  in  weariness  of  body 
and  spirit,  yet  they  work,  work,  work !  You  are  not 
so  worn  out  at  St.  Germains." 

"  True,"  said  Berwick,  with  his  grave  smile.  "  The 
French  court  calls  for  ten  times  the  patience  and 
assiduity  we  ever  needed  at  St.  James's.  And  some  of 
us  —  the  younger  ones  —  take  things  joyously  at  St. 
Germains,  for  we  all  hope  to  be  restored  to  our  own. 
Even  our  friend  Egremont  plumes  himself  that  his 
estate  will  be  worth  more  when  he  gets  it  back  into  his 
hand  than  when  it  was  torn  from  him." 

As  Berwipk  spoke  Roger's  name,  a  blush  kindled  all 
over  the  creamy  cheeks  of  Michelle.  Berwick  was  sorry 
for  her  at  that  moment.  She  shook  her  bridle-reins  and 
quickened  her  horse's  pace,  and  no  more  was  said  of 
Roger. 

It  was  late  in  the  sunny  afternoon  before  they  reached 
Vitry.  When  they  clattered  up  to  the  entrance  of  the 
courtyard  of  the  Three  Roses,  Roger  was  waiting  for 
them.  As  soon  as  Michelle  drew  rein,  Roger  stepped 
forward,  and  without  regarding  the  rights  of  Berwick, 
who  had  the  privilege,  as  the  gentleman  riding  with  her, 
of  lifting  the  Princess  Michelle  from  her  horse,  swung 
her  to  the  ground.     And  again  Michelle  blushed. 

Madame   de    Beaumanoir   and   Frangois   were   close 
behind.     The  landlord,  bowing  to  the  ground,  was  at 
hand,  and  supper  was  ordered  at  once. 
17  257 


The  House  of  Egremont 

There  is  something  in  change  and  movement  which 
makes  almost  any  inn  tolerable  for  a  night,  and  the  life 
they  were  leading  was  novel  to  all  of  them  except  Ber- 
wick. Their  supper,  in  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  room, 
served  by  the  landlord  himself,  with  the  maitre  d'hStel 
to  stand  between  him  and  the  old  Duchess,  was  gay  as 
usual.  When  it  was  over,  the  young  moon  was  high 
in  the  sky  of  night,  which  was  still  ineffably  blue  and 
clear. 

Roger  began  to  urge  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  to 
walk  out  and  see  the  old  castle  by  moonlight.  Madame 
de  Beaumanoir  pleaded  fatigue,  rheumatism,  old  age. 
Roger  answered  these  objections  by  producing  from 
somewhere  about  the  inn,  an  ancient  and  moth-eaten 
sedan  chair,  in  which  the  old  lady,  with  screams  of 
laughter,  ensconced  herself. 

"  And  you,  mademoiselle,  will  go  too  ?  "  he  asked  of 
Michelle. 

"  With  pleasure,"  she  replied. 

Roger  looked  at  Berwick,  who  shook  his  head,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  Manage  this  campaign  by  yourself, 
my  fine  fellow !  " 

Frangois  had  bought  a  volume  of  sermons  at  Chalons, 
which  he  had  carefully  concealed  from  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir,  and  was  dying  to  read,  so  he  relieved 
them  of  his  company ;  and  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  with 
two  chairmen  carrying  her,  set  forth,  Roger  and  Michelle 
walking  by  the  window  of  the  chair,  and  pointing  out 
the  beauties  of  the  little  town,  lying  still  and  quiet  in  the 
moonlight,  which  cast  its  mysterious  charm  over  all  the 
scene.  When  they  reached  the  point  where  the  castle 
rose  before  them,  its  silvered  battlements  shining  in  the 
light  of  moon  and  stars,  they  rested  under  a  tree  in  a 
little  open  place  surrounded  by  gardens.     Madame  de 

258 


To  the  Gate  of  Paradise 

Beaumanoir,  as  soon  as  her  chair  was  set  down,  put  her 
head  out  of  the  window,  and  entered  into  a  discourse, 
lasting  half  an  hour  or  more,  concerning  a  certain  moon- 
light water  party  at  Hampton  Court  in  which  the  blessed 
King  Charles  figured  in  the  usual  manner.  When  she 
had  finally  reached  the  end  of  her  tale,  she  looked 
about  her.  Both  of  the  chairmen  were  asleep,  and 
Roger  and  Michelle  were  nowhere  in  sight.  Madame 
de  Beaumanoir  scolded  her  chairmen  until  they  were 
broad-awake,  but  there  was  no  finding  the  deserters. 
Those  two  renegades  had  walked  off,  Michelle  scarce 
knowing  what  she  did,  except  that  the  moonlight  was 
sweet,  and  that  Roger's  voice  was  very  seductive  when 
he  said,  — 

"  There  is  a  very  noble  tower  which  can  be  seen  if 
you  will  but  come  a  few  yards  away." 

The  few  yards  away  was  a  considerable  distance; 
and  when  they  found  themselves  alone,  under  a  hedge, 
with  the  gray  mass  of  the  old  castle  looming  up 
before  them  in  dreamlike  beauty,  the  two  poor  souls 
forgot  everjiihing  but  each  other.  They  spoke  little, 
but  under  all  Roger  said  lurked  something  that  told 
of  the  passion  within  him.  She  was  Mademoiselle  the 
Princess  d'Orantia,  and  he  was  simply  Mr,  Egremont, 
a  gentleman  who  had  not  so  much  as  a  pair  of  boots, 
except  what  he  might  win  with  his  sword.  Obviously 
love  should  never  so  much  as  be  thought  of  between 
them;  but  —  perversity  governs  the  world.  And  this 
vast  inequality  between  them  disappeared  when  they 
stood  alone  together  in  the  moonlight,  Michelle's  eyes, 
the  only  feature  she  knew  not  how  to  control,  look- 
ing at  poor  Roger  with  a  world  of  meaning  in  their  soft 
depths.  Her  eyes  were  dark  and  deep  and  changing, 
like  the  Dark  Pool  at  Egremont,  in  which  were  mir- 

269 


The  House  of  Egremont 

rored  night  and  day,  clouds  and  sunshine,  darkness  and 
light ;  it  was  never  the  same  for  an  hour  together. 

And  sweet  moments  like  these  must  be  many  before 
they  reached  Orlamunde  ;  and  after  that  —  well,  a 
campaign  was  coming ;  a  soldier  with  his  sword  could 
cut  his  way  through  a  forest  of  obstacles.  So  thought 
Roger. 

They  were  roused  from  their  dream  in  Paradise  by 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  voice  in  the  distance,  cutting 
the  air  like  a  knife.  They  ran  back,  like  a  couple  of 
school  children  caught  playing  truant,  —  the  bold  Roger 
Egremont  as  meek  and  apologetic  as  Frangois  Delau- 
nay  could  have  been. 

"A  pretty  cavalier  you  are  I  "  bawled  the  old  lady  to 
Roger  on  one  side  of  her  chair,  "leaving  me  in  the 
lurch  like  this.  I  warrant  your  father,  for  all  his  faults, 
poor  man,  and  he  had  a  plenty,  would  never  have 
been  so  rude.  Nor  would  those  worthless  Sandhills 
Egremonts  have  so  used  me.  Let  me  tell  you,  young 
man,  you  have  a  great  deal  to  learn  yet,  nor  do  I  see 
any  great  aptitude  in  you  ! " 

Roger  bore  this  assault  on  himself  and  his  family  with 
exemplary  and  silent  patience.  It  was  then  Michelle's 
turn. 

"And  you,  miss,  call  you  this  proper  to  go  off  for 
a  couple  of  hours,"  —  it  had  been  a  scant  half  hour  — 
"  with  a  gentleman  in  this  manner  ?  What  if  at 
Orlamunde  —  " 

"  Madam,  madam,"  implored  Roger,  "  I  alone  am  to 
blame ;  this  young  lady  is  perfectly  innocent." 

"  I  know  it,"  snapped  Madame  de  Beaumanoir. 
"  Everybody  is  always  perfectly  innocent  in  cases  like 
this." 

"  If  I  were  Monsieur  Frangois  Delaunay,"  continued 

260 


To  the  Gate  of  Paradise 

Roger,  recovering  his  spirits  slightly,  "  would  you  so 
belabor  me  for  being  a  little  too  gallant  to  a  charming 
young  lady,  like  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia  ?  " 

"  Oh,  FranQois,  he  is  a  sheep  of  a  man,  if  you  please ; 
he  has  no  red  blood  in  him." 

Roger  managed,  however,  to  keep  Madame  de  Beau- 
manoir's  denunciations  directed  toward  himself,  and 
they  returned  to  the  inn,  the  old  lady  rating  him 
soundly  the  whole  way.  When  they  arrived  at  the 
door,  Berwick  and  Frangois  were  awaiting  them. 

Michelle  escaped  to  her  room,  while  Madame  de  Beau- 
manoir,  standing  under  the  swinging  lantern  in  the 
doorway,  gave  Roger  a  new  and  complete  scolding 
in  French,  as  she  had  done  in  English,  the  chairmen 
and  porters  standing  around  and  grinning,  Berwick 
urging  her  on,  and  supplying  fuel  for  the  fire  of  her 
wrath,  Francois  mutely  sympathetic,  and  Roger,  hat 
in  hand,  in  speechless  humility.  When  at  last  she 
retired,  leaving  Roger  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Berwick, 
he  registered  a  vow  before  high  Heaven  that  never 
would  he  give  cause  for  offence  to  Madame  de  Beau- 
manoir  again,  if  he  should  live  to  be  a  thousand  years 
old. 

The  next  day  they  made  Bar-sur-Aube,  and  in  a  day 
or  two  more  they  were  climbing  the  rough  sides  of  the 
mountains  of  the  Vosges. 

In  the  pleasant  champagne  country  it  had  been 
spring,  with  a  glint  of  summer,  but  in  the  Vosges 
they  returned  to  winter.  The  air  was  sharp  and  cold, 
the  inns  were  far  apart  and  comfortless.  The  streams, 
swollen  by  the  melting  snow  and  the  spring  rains,  had 
in  many  cases  washed  the  bridges  away.  The  travel- 
lers were  delayed  at  many  rivers,  and  sometimes  passed 

days  in  wretched  houses  of  entertainment,  and  once 

261 


The  House  of  Egremont 

even  in  a  charcoal-burner's  hut.     They  were  two  weeks 
in  crossing  the  mountain  ranges. 

But  they  were  two  happy  weeks  to  Egremont  and 
Michelle,  in  spite  of  rain  and  wind  and  cold  and 
privations. 

Roger's  little  volume  of  Ronsard's  poems  was  a  de- 
light to  him.  He  wished  the  chance  to  read  those 
passionate,  sweet  poems  to  Michelle,  and  cunningly 
contrived  it,  by  taking  the  volume  out  of  his  breast 
when  he  knew  Michelle  was  observing  him,  and  reading 
it  as  he  jogged  along  on  Merrylegs.  Of  course,  a 
woman  must  know  what  a  man  is  reading  whenever 
she  sees  a  book  in  his  hand.  Roger  always  replaced 
his  dear  Ronsard  with  an  ostentatious  show  of  secrecy, 
in  his  breast,  as  soon  as  he  saw  Michelle's  attention 
openly  fixed  on  him.  It  was  not  long  before  she  asked 
him  what  book  was  that  he  read  so  often  and  seemed 
so  anxious  to  conceal. 

"  A  book,  madam,  in  which  you  would  take  no  inter- 
est. Yet  will  I  show  it  to  you  if  you  really  wish  to 
see  it." 

This  was  most  vexatious.  She  really  wished  to  see 
it,  but  she  really  did  not  wish  to  acknowledge  this. 
But  Roger  deliberately  putting  the  book  back  into  his 
breast,  Michelle  could  not  forbear  asking  to  see  it. 
She  assumed  a  careless  tone,  but  that  did  not  deceive 
Roger.     At  once  her  eyes  sparkled. 

"  Dear  Ronsard ! "  she  cried ;  "  I  ever  loved  him  I "  and 
then  she  began  to  read  some  of  his  verses,  and  stopped 
with  a  conscious  blush. 

"  Let  me  read  you  something  that  I  love,"  said  Roger ; 
and  turning  the  leaves  at  random,  he  found  a  stanza 
full  of  sentiment,  which  he  read  so  meaningly  that  the 
color  deepened  in  Michelle's  usually  pale  cheeks. 

262 


To  the  Gate  of  Paradise 

After  that,  Roger  took  a  mean  advantage  of  her  ad- 
mission that  she  loved  Ronsard,  and  often,  when  they 
were  riding  alone  together,  would  he  read  to  her  from 
that  poet  of  the  heart  —  and  read  so  well  that  it  was 
plain  Pierre  Ronsard  was  speaking  for  Roger  Egremont. 
The  volume  was  a  kind  of  talisman.  With  it  Roger 
could  at  will  bring  the  blood  surging  into  Michelle's 
fair  face,  make  her  glance  sidewise  at  him  with  a  tell- 
tale light  in  her  eyes,  and  render  her  blind  and  deaf 
to  all  except  the  poet's  magical  words. 

The  very  happiest  time  of  all  was  three  days  of 
storm  they  spent  in  the  charcoal-burner's  hut.  It  was 
new  to  them  both  to  see  a  storm-swept  mountain  forest, 
the  wind  roaring  along  the  rocky  gorges,  bearing  down 
the  sturdy  pines  and  larches  in  its  madness,  and  wrap- 
ping sky  and  mountains  in  a  shroud  of  black  rain  and 
mist.  Roger  and  Michelle  watched  it  together  from 
the  one  unglazed  window  of  the  hut,  and  were  lost 
in  admiration  at  the  beauty  and  fury  of  the  tempest. 
They  were  safe  in  the  little  secluded  place  where  the 
charcoal-burner  had  built  his  rude  shelter.  The  ladies 
slept  in  the  hut,  the  gentlemen  lodged  in  the  chaise. 
The  servants  slept  in  a  hut  still  poorer  and  ruder, 
a  short  distance  off.  There  was  food  and  a  plenty 
of  good  wine,  thanks  to  the  maitre  d'hotel,  and  the 
gentlefolks  rather  liked  their  strange  experience.  The 
servants  grumbled  much.  On  the  third  night,  when 
the  dun  clouds  that  almost  rested  on  the  tree-tops 
had  drifted  sullenly  southward,  and  the  angry  wind 
had  been  soothed,  the  full  moon  came  out  glori- 
ously. Roger  was  not  indiscreet  enough  to  propose 
to  Michelle  a  prospect  of  the  scene  by  moonlight;  his 
recollection  of  the  moonlight  at  Vitry  was  too  recent 
and  too  poignant.     But  going  out  of  the  hut,  where  by 

263 


The  House  of  Egremont 

the  light  of  a  single  candle  Madame  de  Beaumanoir 
with  Berwick  and  Francois  played  primero,  he  cast  a 
sly  and  meaning  glance  back  at  Michelle. 

When  he  had  been  gone  five  minutes  and  the  old 
duchess  was  deep  in  her  game,  Michelle  rose,  and 
wrapping  her  cloak  in  which  she  had  sat  more  closely 
about  her,  opened  the  door  silently  and  slipped  out. 
Leaning  against  the  door-post  was  Roger  Egremont. 

"Look,  mademoiselle,"  he  said;  "the  trees  are  so 
still  —  so  still,  and  so  white  on  their  tops,  and  so 
black  under  their  branches ;  and  listen  —  you  can  hear 
the  singing  of  a  dozen  waterfalls." 

Michelle  listened,  and  the  voices  of  the  falling  waters 
made  the  night  musical. 

"  You  will  see  many  nights  like  this,"  she  said,  "  but 
I  shall  not.  Remember  me  sometimes  when  you  are 
in  a  lonely  mountain  place  like  this,  and  something 
recalls  this  spot." 

"  Remember  you  I "  replied  Roger,  in  a  low  voice,  and 
said  no  more ;  but  he  looked  at  her  hard  in  the  bright 
moonlight  and  saw  what  he  wished  to  see  in  her  melt- 
ing eyes.  He  took  her  little  warm  hand  in  his ;  he 
needed  not  to  speak,  and  the  hand  he  held  fluttered, 
but  made  no  effort  to  escape. 

"And  will  you  think  of  me  sometimes  at  Orla- 
munde?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  strange  voice,  "  I  shall ;  you  may 
depend  upon  it." 

"  And  when  you  hear  that  I  have  got  a  step  in  pro- 
motion, or  better  still,  that  we  are  restored  to  our 
own  in  our  own  country,  then  look  to  hear  shortly 
from  Roger  Egremont,  for  not  a  moment  will  I  lose 
in  writing  you  first  and  seeking  you  afterward." 

Roger   had   not   meant  to  go  so  far,   but  when   a 

264 


To  the  Gate  of  Paradise 

gentleman  has  got  this  distance  there  is  not  much 
farther  for  him  to  travel.  But  at  this  moment  Michelle 
withdrew  her  hand,  and  suddenly  disappeared,  so  sud- 
denly indeed  that  Roger  looked  about  him  amazed, 
and  could  not  imagine  how  quickly  and  silently  she 
must  have  opened  the  door  of  the  hut  and  gone  in; 
for  that  was  what  he  thought  she  had  done.  He  waited 
five  minutes,  and  then  himself  opened  the  door,  and 
entering  looked  about  him,  expecting  to  see  Michelle. 
There  was  no  sign  of  her,  however,  although  he  care- 
fully explored  every  corner  by  the  dim  light  of  the 
candle.  There  was  but  one  room,  with  no  loft  or 
other  place  of  concealment.  Madame  de  Beaumanoir 
was  far  too  deep  in  her  game  to  notice  any  one.  Fran- 
qois  had  left  off  playing  and  was  half  asleep,  after  hav- 
ing been  well  scolded  for  his  inattention  half  a  dozen 
times  that  evening,  Berwick  flashed  an  inquiring  look 
at  Roger,  and  Roger  shook  his  head,  and  disappeared 
as  silently  as  he  had  come  in. 

Outside  he  saw  that  it  was  far  easier  for  Michelle  to 
disappear  unseen  around  the  corner  of  the  little  hut 
than  to  go  inside,  and  wondered  at  his  own  stupidity 
in  seeking  her  there.  And  he  was  deeply  vexed  and 
his  masculine  self-love  was  wounded  at  the  moment 
she  had  chosen  to  leave  him. 

The  place  was  in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  with  only  a 
small  spot  cleared  about  it.  Bright  as  the  moon  shone, 
all  was  black  under  the  branches  of  the  solemn  larches 
and  firs,  Roger  walked  about,  listening  intently  for 
the  fluttering  sound  of  Michelle's  dress,  or  her  light 
footstep.  He  made  a  circle  around  the  hut,  calling 
softly  at  intervals,  "Mademoiselle!  Mademoiselle! 
Where  are  you  ?  "  But  there  was  no  response  except 
the  dashing  of  the  water  over  the  rocks   in  the  dis- 

265 


The  House  of  Egremont 

tance,  and  the  occasional  lonely  cry  of  an  owl  that  com- 
plained to  the  moon.  Roger  began  to  feel  annoyed  and 
even  a  little  alarmed.  What  business  had  Michelle  to 
go  off  in  that  manner,  in  a  forest  by  night  ?  She  might 
very  well  be  lost  for  a  time,  even  for  the  whole  night. 
And  there  were  wolves  about  —  the  charcoal-burner 
had  told  of  seeing  them  every  winter.  As  this  dread- 
ful thought  struck  him,  Michelle's  soft  voice,  just  at 
his  elbow,  caught  his  ear. 

"  Are  you  looking  for  me,  Mr.  Egremont  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  replied  Roger,  turning  to  her.  They  were  in 
a  bright  patch  of  moonlight,  and  he  could  see  her  quite 
well.     He  was  vexed  with  her,  and  he  showed  it. 

"  You  have  alarmed  me  much  by  going  off  alone.  I 
have  been  searching  for  you  for  the  last  half-hour." 

"  Forgive  me  the  trouble  I  have  caused  you,"  she 
said,  walking  toward  the  hut  and  looking  back  at  him. 
Her  cloak  was  around  her,  but  her  dark  head  was  bare, 
and  her  eyes  shone  with  strange  brilliancy. 

"  I  am  a  very  unhappy  woman,  Mr.  Egremont,  and,  I 
fear,  a  guilty  one.  I  came  upon  this  journey  to  do  my 
duty  to  my  King  and  to  my  country,  but  I  am  afraid  I 
shall  do  both  more  harm  than  good  by  my  coming,  and 
as  for  myself  and  you  —  ah,  I  have  done  infinite  harm  ! 
We  shall  both  be  miserable  for  the  rest  of  our  lives, 
perhaps." 

Roger,  following  her,  was  stupefied  by  her  language. 
She  was  usually  the  most  intelligible  of  women,  and 
although  she  often  spoke  playfully,  no  one  made  the 
meaning  of  words  clearer  than  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia 
—  this  woman  renowned  for  her  wit  and  address.  Mis- 
erable and  guilty  !  What  inexplicable  words  for  her  to 
use !  And  to  tell  him  so  plainly  that  he  was  linked 
with  that  guilt  and  misery  of  which  she  spoke  !    It  made 

266 


To  the  Gate  of  Paradise 

his  heart  pound  against  his  ribs,  —  the  mere  thought 
of  it. 

He  walked  rapidly,  and  catching  up  with  her,  cried, 
"  Mademoiselle,  I  do  not  understand ;  "  but  she  walked 
so  fast  and  turned  her  head  away  so  persistently  that 
he  could  not  get  another  word  out  of  her,  and  presently 
they  came  to  the  door  of  the  hut,  and  Roger  signing  to 
her  to  enter  j5rst,  she  went  in  and  left  him  alone. 

Roger  remained  outside  in  the  chilly  night  for  a  time, 
puzzled  and  troubled  and  intoxicated  by  her  words.  But 
presently  in  his  man's  mind  came  the  reflection  that 
women  were,  after  all,  fanciful  and  sensitive  creatures, 
of  whom  the  greatest  wits  among  them  were  likely  to  be 
the  most  fanciful  and  sensitive.  A  man  would  be  a  fool 
who  would  take  them  quite  literally.  Unhappy  and 
guilty  —  yes,  they  called  themselves  unhappy  when  they 
missed  receiving  a  love-letter,  and  wept  and  raved  over 
trifles,  while  they  could  bear  the  loss  of  fortune,  of  health, 
all  that  makes  life  endurable,  with  smiling  composure. 
And  Michelle  would  call  herself  guilty  if  she  committed 
a  peccadillo  which  a  man  would  reckon  at  not  a  pin's 
consequence ;  and  Roger  knew  women  well  enough  to 
recall  that  the  very  best  of  them  can,  under  love  or  hate, 
commit  deeds  of  which  the  mere  thought  would  make 
a  man's  hair  to  rise  on  his  head. 

So,  having  recovered  somewhat  from  his  first  dismay, 
he  presently  entered  the  hut.  The  game  was  over. 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir  was  wigging  Francois  for  not 
having  brought  some  extra  packs  of  cards  with  him. 
Berwick  sat  on  a  settle  by  the  fireside,  and  Michelle  was 
by  his  side.  He  was  speaking  to  her  kindly,  very  kindly, 
and  she  listened  to  him  with  a  smile  upon  her  pale  lips, 
but  with  an  expression  of  so  much  misery  in  her  dark 
eyes  that  it  gave  Roger  a  shock. 

267 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Directly  they  were  separating  for  the  night.  The 
three  gentlemen  had  ensconced  themselves  in  the 
chaise,  and  muffled  themselves  in  their  cloaks.  In  five 
minutes  Francois  was  snoring.  Then  Roger  said  in  a 
low  voice  to  Berwick,  — 

"  When  a  woman  says  she  is  miserable  and  guilty,  I 
take  it  she  has  the  vapors  —  or  —  or  —  is  in  love  with 
a  man  and  cannot  see  her  way  to  marry  him  directly. 
Is  not  that  your  opinion  ?  " 

"  With  most  women,  yes.  With  all  women,  no.  If 
Mademoiselle  d'Orantia  said  she  was  miserable  and 
guilty,  I  should  take  it  seriously." 

With  this  for  a  nightcap,  Roger  Egremont  spent  the 
night. 

Next  morning  it  was  clear  and  bright,  and  they  began 
the  descent  of  the  mountains.  At  every  stage  they 
came  nearer  the  springtime. 

When,  after  some  days'  travel,  they  reached  the  valley 
of  the  Moselle,  it  was  full  spring,  with  all  its  glories. 
They  had  then  been  three  weeks  on  their  way. 

Michelle  had  been  as  sweet,  as  kind  to  Roger,  as  ever 
she  was,  —  nay,  sweeter  and  kinder.  But  Roger  saw 
that  she  avoided,  with  the  utmost  art,  being  alone  with 
him  for  a  moment.  This  made  him  receive  her  kindness 
somewhat  sullenly  ;  he  thought  a  lady  who  had  showed 
him  so  much  favor  as  Michelle  had  done  that  night  at  the 
charcoal-burner's  hut  contracted  a  debt  to  him  of  more 
of  the  same  good  treatment.  Nevertheless,  finding  in  a 
contest  of  wit  between  them  that  Michelle  was  his 
superior  in  finesse,  he  concluded  to  take  his  defeats 
good-humoredly.  One  thing  was  certain,  he  could  not 
say  any  more  to  her,  or  to  any  woman,  concerning  his 
love,  than  what  he  had  already  said,  for  was  he  not,  so 
far,  a  mere  gentleman  adventurer  ?     But  he  had  a  cam- 

268 


To  the  Gate  of  Paradise 

paign  before  him,  under  a  fighting  general,  and  what 
might  he  not  accomplish,  even  in  a  single  campaign? 
Roger  Egremont  was  of  a  sanguine  nature,  which 
helped  him  over  many  of  the  rough  places  in  life,  and 
he  was  far  too  much  of  a  man  to  think  that  life  was  to 
be  spent  in  Arcady.  Rather  did  he  incline  to  make  the 
most  of  those  bright  hours,  such  as  he  had  known  upon 
that  blessed  journey,  because  they  were  so  fleeting  — 
and  so  fleeting  because  they  were  so  golden. 

They  were  nearing  the  end  of  their  travel,  and  Roger 
remembered  that  the  principality  of  Orlamunde  lay  be- 
tween the  Rhine  and  the  Moselle  and  they  were  then 
in  the  beautiful  Moselle  country.  They  followed  a 
straight  course,  crossing  many  times  the  bright,  winding 
river,  that  now  hides  all  its  loveliness  in  dark  woods, 
and  then  reveals  it  all  in  fair  fields  and  meadows.  The 
season  was  far  advanced,  the  vineyards  were  sprouting. 
Nature  daily  and  hourly  performed  miracles  of  change 
and  beauty  before  their  eyes. 

At  last,  on  a  heavenly  April  evening,  toward  sunset, 
they  caught  sight,  from  a  wooded  height,  of  a  distant 
silver  thread.     It  was  the  Rhine. 

They  spurred  forward.  Michelle  had  carried  out  her 
promise,  and  had  made  the  whole  journey  from  France 
in  her  saddle,  and  was  then  riding  between  Roger  and 
Berwick.  She  looked  at  Berwick  and  said  in  a  strange 
voice,  "  Yonder  is  the  Rhine." 

"And  Orlamunde  but  five  miles  away  from  this 
spot,'*  replied  Berwick. 

Roger  turned  in  his  saddle  to  survey  the  country  they 
had  just  passed  over.  It  was  one  of  those  moments  when 
he  realized  that  there  was  something  in  this  expedition 
known  to  all  but  him  and  it  gave  him  discomfort. 

In  a  little  while  they  reached  a  small  but  comfortable 

269 


The  House  of  Egremont 

inn,  with  a  little  wood  behind  it  and  a  charming  garden 
in  front  of  it,  and  shielding  it  from  the  highroad.  They 
seemed  to  be  expected,  for  the  landlord  himself  bustled 
out  to  receive  them,  the  best  rooms  in  the  house  were 
prepared  for  them,  and  even  dressed  with  flowers,  and 
the  best  supper  the  inn  could  furnish  was  awaiting 
them,  together  with  wines  of  the  best  vintages  of  the 
Rhine  and  the  Moselle.  Roger  did  not  pay  great  atten- 
tion to  this,  —  the  baggage-wagon  and  servants  had 
arrived  some  hours  in  advance,  and  there  had  been  time 
to  make  preparations  for  so  large  a  party. 

After  the  supper,  served  by  the  landlord  himself  with 
many  smirks  and  bows,  the  ladies,  with  their  three  cava- 
liers, went  out  into  the  garden  sweet  and  gay,  to  watch 
the  sunset  after  a  day  so  fair  and  bright,  and  Michelle 
then  said  to  Roger,  — 

"  Mr.  Egremont,  will  you  not  sing  to  us  the  whole  of 
that  song  of  exile  composed  by  Captain  Ogilvie,  the  Irish 
gentleman?  I  think  it  the  very  "sweetest  air  and  charm- 
ingest  words  I  ever  heard." 

And  Roger,  blushing  with  delight,  went  to  the  inn, 
and  borrowing  an  old  Spanish  guitar,  on  which  he  could 
thrum  a  little,  returned  and  sang  with  much  taste, 
although  with  no  great  voice,  that  song  beloved  of  the 
exiles,  — 

"  Yes,  it  was  for  our  lawful  King, 
We  left  our  lovely  England's  shore, 
That  we  exiled  ourselves  from  Scotland,  my  love, 
That  we  exiled  ourselves  from  Ireland. 

"  Now,  when  we  have  done  all  that  men  can  do, 
And  all  we  have  done  is  of  no  avail, 
My  native  land,  my  love,  adieu  1 
For  we  must  cross  the  sea,  my  love, 
For  we  must  cross  the  sea. 
270 


To  the  Gate  of  Paradise 

*'  We  look  our  last  on  native  shores, 
We  grasp  our  oars,  and  cry, 

Adieu,  for  evermore,  my  love  ! 
Adieu,  for  evermore ! 

"  The  soldier  comes  back  from  the  war, 
The  sailor  recrosses  the  sea  ; 
But  I  ?    I  have  left  my  love,  to  return  no  more. 
My  love,  to  return  no  more. 

"  When  the  day  is  done,  and  the  wings  of  night 
Spread  their  shadow  over  all ; 
And  each  gives  himself  to  the  sweets  of  sleep, 
For  me  —  I  think  of  one  who  is  far  away. 
And  in  the  long,  long  night,  I  weep  for  my  love, 
For  the  long,  long  night,  I  weep." 

Roger  put  so  much  feeling  into  what  he  sang  that  it 
touched  every  heart,  and  Michelle's  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  at  which  Roger's  grew  bright  with  triumph.  And 
suddenly  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  voice  cut  the  air,  — 

"Now  that  we  have  reached  within  five  miles  of 
Orlamunde  we  can  talk  openly  about  the  affair  which 
brings  us  all  here.  I  love  to  talk  of  things  I  know, 
and  it  has  been  a  mortal  trial  to  me  to  hold  my  tongue, 
especially  as  we  all  know  the  whole  thing  except  Mr. 
Egremont." 

Roger  rose  instantly,  polite,  but  a  little  disconcerted. 
He  supposed  that  the  secret  affair  was  some  political 
measure  connected  with  the  relations  of  France  and  the 
little  principality  of  Orlamunde,  and  the  measure  the 
King  had  confided  to  the  ladies  and  to  Berwick.  Fran- 
cois Delaunay  knew  it,  but  that  was  natural  enough, 
considering  that  he  was  the  ostensible  protector  of  his 
aunt  and  cousin  on  their  journey. 

Roger  made  a  good  excuse  for  leaving  the  company ; 
he  must  go   and   look   after  Merrylegs.     The  faithful 

271 


The  House  of  Egremont 

beast  showed  some  signs  of  fatigue,  and  must  be  at- 
tended to  by  his  master,  and  not  by  a  hireling. 

Roger  remained  away  a  long  time.  He  wished  not 
to  intrude  himself  until  much  time  for  discussion  had 
passed.  He  walked  about  the  fields,  and  always  in  the 
direction  of  the  Rhine,  so  that  he  saw  the  river  quite 
plainly.  The  evenings  were  long,  and  although  the 
moon  did  not  now  rise  till  past  midnight,  the  sky  was 
bright  with  opaline  light,  and  a  star  or  two  shone  beauti- 
fully in  the  western  horizon.  It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock 
when  he  turned  homeward,  and  it  was  an  hour  before 
the  lights  of  the  inn  came  in  sight. 

As  he  was  passing  through  the  little  wood  which  lay 
behind  the  garden  of  the  inn,  he  was  surprised  to  see 
Michelle  standing  under  the  trees.  He  went  up  to  her, 
saying,  — 

"  The  beauty  of  the  evening  tempted  me  to  go  afar." 

"And  you  left  us  free  to  discuss  the  affair  which 
brought  us  here.  Ah,  Mr.  Egremont,  you  are  not  a 
man  to  deceive,  even  when  you  try." 

"  It  was  very  right  that  I  should  leave  you,  made- 
moiselle," replied  Roger,  courteously ;  and  then,  catch- 
ing sight  of  Michelle's  face,  he  said,  — 

"I  hope  that  your  errand  here  will  be  for  your 
happiness." 

"  It  will  not,"  she  said  calmly,  "  for  my  errand  is  to 
marry  the  Prince  of  Orlamunde." 

Although  it  was  night,  and  there  was  no  moon,  yet 
could  Roger  Egremont  see  the  Princess  Michelle's  face 
plainly,  and  she  could  see  his.  At  first  he  was  so  dazed 
by  her  words  that  he  looked  like  a  man  suddenly  struck 
a  blow  from  behind,  but  quickly  his  countenance  changed 
as  his  consciousness  began  to  work  of  itself.  The 
Prince  of  Orlamunde  I    Was  he  old  or  young?    Was  he 

272 


To  the  Gate  of  Paradise 

ft  comely  man  or  a  hunchback  ?  Was  he  marrying  her 
for  love,  or  was  she  being  sold  in  a  market  ?  All  these 
thoughts  came  roaring  and  rushing  through  his  mind  at 
once.  Was  she  marrying  for  love  ?  Ah,  no.  He  knew 
the  answer  to  that.  He  remembered  that  night  by  the 
charcoal-burner's  hut ;  those  days  together ;  those  times 
when  she  recalled  to  him  words  that  he  had  spoken, 
mentioning  the  very  day  and  hour  and  place  when  they 
had  passed  his  lips.  And  the  thought  brought  rage 
quick  and  strong.  All  the  time  she  was  amusing  her- 
self with  him,  —  mere  soldier  of  fortune  that  he  was, 
with  a  long  sword  and  a  short  purse  ;  and  he  had  told 
her  all  —  all  —  all,  —  confessions  about  his  behavior  in 
Newgate  gaol,  things  that  he  had  been  ashamed  to  tell 
any  human  being  —  and  she  was  laughing  at  him  all  the 
while,  and  going  to  marry  the  Prince  of  Orlamunde, 
princeling  of  a  territory  scarce  as  big  as  the  estate  of 
Egremont, — living,  no  doubt,  in  a  kind  of  sixpenny  mag- 
nificence, selling  his  country  to  the  French  King  for  a 
hundred  louis  d'or  a  month,  perhaps.  Oh,  what  a 
wretch  must  that  Prince  of  Orlamunde  be ! 

Michelle,  watching  his  changing  face  growing  dark 
with  wrath,  thought,  as  she  had  done  more  than  once, 
how  anger  disfigured  him.     He  was  a  dashing  and  per- 
sonable man  when  the  world  went  well  with  him,  but 
let  him  but  be  crossed,  and  he  was  positively  ugly. 
He  turned  on  her  after  a  while,  saying  impudently,  — 
"  Let    me    felicitate    you,    Mademoiselle    d'Orantia. 
No  doubt  you  are  making  a  very  splendid   maiTiage. 
I  understood  before  leaving  France  that  the  Prince  of 
Orlamunde  had  an  army,  —  a  whole  regiment,  I  am  told, 
—  which  both  the  King  of  France  and  the  Prince  of 
Orange  are  chaffering  for.     You  will  live  in  a  palace, 
have  ladies-in-waiting,  and  a  paraphernalia  not  quite  so 
18  278 


The  House  of  Egremont 

grand  as  tliat  of  the  Queen  of  France,  but  something 
like  it.  And  there  will  be  Maintenons  and  Montespans, 
most  likely  —  " 

Roger  stopped.  The  devil  that  had  got  hold  of  him 
in  Newgate  prison  and  had  made  a  beast  of  him  was 
now  clawing  him,  but  some  spark  of  the  gentleman  in 
him  checked  his  insults  to  a  woman. 

"  You  are  quite  right  in  all  you  say,"  replied  Michelle, 
in  a  thrilling  voice.  "  And  I  shall  hate  it  all,  as  you 
know,  —  the  trumpery  state,  the  small  politics.  I  know 
of  no  woman  who  can  bear  them  more  ill  than  I.  But 
a  greater  misery  than  all  has  befallen  me.  I  go  to  be 
the  wife  of  the  Prince  of  Orlamunde  when  I  love  you, 
Roger  Egremont,  and  would  rather  be  your  wife  with 
nothing  but  the  clothes  upon  my  back  than  to  be  the 
Queen  of  France,  And  I  am  an  ambitious  woman  too. 
And  until  we  made  this  journey  together  I  actually 
thought  with  pleasure  of  being  Princess  of  Orlamunde," 

Roger  felt  his  knees  giving  way  under  him.  There 
was  a  bench  near  the  tree  where  they  stood,  and  he  sat 
down  upon  it,  Michelle  stood  up  before  him,  straight 
and  slim  in  the  half-light.  The  sky  was  now  full  of 
stars,  and  by  their  pale  splendor  he  could  see  every  look 
that  passed  over  her  speaking  face. 

"  But  if  you  love  me,"  he  stammered,  "  it  is  not  yet 
too  late." 

"  Yes,  it  is  too  late." 

The  echo  of  her  words  was  indescribably  melancholy  ,* 
a  night-bird's  sad  cry  quivering  through  the  trees 
seemed  like  its  echo. 

"  Yes,  it  is  too  late.  To-morrow  the  Prince  sends  his 
people  to  meet  me  here,  and  then  next  day  the  marriage 
takes  place.  Of  course  there  is  a  bargain  in  the  matter. 
The  King  of  France  wishes  certain  things  of  the  Prince 

274 


To  the  Gate  of  Paradise 

of  Orlamunde.  The  Prince  demanded  not  only  money, 
but  a  wife  from  France,  and  I,  poor  unfortunate  that  I 
am,  agreed  to  be  the  sacrifice.  I  thought  it  great  and 
noble  to  immolate  myself  for  my  King,  but  that  was 
before  I  loved  you.  Now  it  is  too  late  to  turn  back; 
even  Berwick  has  gently  warned  me  of  this  when  he  saw 
with  what  a  heart  of  stone  I  come  to  Orlamunde.  But 
after  all,  what  does  the  happiness  or  misery  of  one 
woman  matter  ?  It  is  only  the  eternal  passing.  If  I 
had  known  happiness,  it  would  have  been  gone  from  me ; 
none  can  keep  it.  And,  at  least,  I  have  had  some  mo- 
ments of  perfect  joy  with  you.  They  were  few  and  short, 
but  many  people  live  through  a  long  life  without  ever 
knowing  one  moment's  complete  joy." 

Roger  sat  listening  eagerly  and  angrily  to  every  word, 
and  then  he  burst  forth,  — 

"  But  why  did  you  bring  me  upon  this  devilish  jour- 
ney ?  "  —  the  evil  spirit  in  him  making  him  think  first  of 
his  own  humiliation.  "  Berwick,  the  Duchess,  Francois 
Delaunay,  even  the  maitre  d'hotel,  —  ha  I  ha  I  —  must 
have  seen  how  it  was  with  me."  Roger  rose  and  struck 
his  forehead. 

"It  is  that  I  am  a  very  bad  woman,"  replied  Michelle. 
"  Berwick  suggested  you,  and  I  said  no  word.  But,  at 
least,  I  did  not  then  know  all  my  feelings  for  you,  all  of 
yours  for  me.  I  said  to  myself :  '  This  poor  English 
gentleman  is  the  only  man  who  ever  pleased  my  fancy  ; 
why  not  indulge  myself  with  his  company  ? '  You  see 
you  are  not  the  only  selfish  one.  You  think  now  only 
of  your  pain.  I  thought  only  of  my  pleasure.  And  then 
—  I  know  not  how  —  from  that  morning  in  the  Cathedral 
at  Meaux,  or  perhaps  before  —  only,  I  had  not  spent 
two  full  days  in  your  company  before  I  knew  how  it 
was  with  me.    And  now  let  there  be  no  more  pretence 

27a 


The  House  of  Egremont 

between  us.  Do  not  reckon  me  to  be  the  best  woman 
that  lives ;  you  are  quite  as  good  a  man  as  I  am  a 
woman.  It  is  a  continual  danger  for  us  to  be  together. 
Reckon  on  your  own  strength,  and  know  that  mine 
is  no  greater.  We  must  part.  I  have  done  wrong 
enough  both  to  you  and  to  the  Prince  of  Orlamunde ; 
not  that  it  really  distresses  me  to  think  of  him, — I 
told  you  I  am  not  a  very  good  woman;  his  suffer- 
ings would  not  give  me  much  pain.  Yours  would 
drive  me  to  distraction  if  I  saw  them.  So  I  must 
not  see  them.  There  are  but  two  more  days,  as  I 
told  you.  I  am  to  reach  Orlamunde  to-morrow  and  be 
married  the  next  day,  and  then  you  must  go.  On  the 
day  after  to-morrow,  —  do  you  understand  ?  —  we  part, 
never  to  meet  again.  Two  more  sunrises,  two  more 
sunsets,  two  more  nights  of  pain,  and  everjiihing  will 
be  over." 

Roger  remained  silent.  She  had  ever  an  eloquent 
and  persuasive  tongue,  and  as  she  spoke,  the  searching 
melancholy  of  her  eyes,  the  ineffable  sadness  of  her 
voice  cut  him  to  the  heart.  After  a  pause  she 
continued,  — 

"  It  is  very  hard  for  you,  but  these  things  are  not  to 
men  what  they  are  to  women.  It  is  much  harder  for 
me.  I  shall  have  a  husband  whom  I  hate  and  who  will 
hate  me,  for  I  foresee  it ;  I  have  a  presentiment  at  this 
moment.  But  I  deserve  it,  having  done  much  to  bring 
this  shame  and  sorrow  on  us  both." 

After  having  cruelly  and  selfishly  blamed  and  in- 
sulted her,  Roger  suddenly  changed;  he  thought  of 
her  only  as  a  lamb  soon  to  be  handed  over  to  the  wolf. 
He  rose,  and  opening  his  arms  wide,  cried,  "  You  have 
brought  me  to  the  gates  of  Paradise,  and  have  shown 
me  the  glory  of  the  beauty  within,  and  then  have  thrust 

276 


To  the  Gate  of  Paradise 

me  away.     But  you  have  the  heavier  part,  the  heavier 
part!" 

And  then  their  lips  met  and  their  souls  rushed  to- 
gether. Time  ceased  for  them.  When  they  slowly 
came  back  to  the  world  about  them  and  saw  the  pity- 
ing stars  shining  overhead,  and  heard  again  the  night- 
bird's  melancholy  call,  Michelle  retreated  from  him. 

"  I  have,  indeed,  the  heavier  part,"  she  said,  bursting 
into  tears.  "Besides  losing  you,  I  can  never  see  my 
own  country  again.  I  can  never  be  free  from  a  hus- 
band I  hate  already,  and  I  have  never  seen  him,  I 
shaU  not  find  here  one  single  friend ;  that  my  soul  tells 
me.     Truly,  am  I  punished." 

"  But,  at  least,"  cried  Roger,  approaching  her  as  she 
withdrew  herself,  weeping,  from  him,  "  We  have  had, 
as  you  say,  some  days  of  happiness ;  we  have  had  some 
moments  —  that  night  outside  the  hut  in  the  mountains, 
this  minute  just  past,  —  when  we  have  known  ecstasy. 
Neither  the  Prince  of  Orlamunde  nor  heaven  nor  hell 
can  rob  us  of  that !  " 

As  he  spoke,  she  turned  and  fled  from  him.  He  took 
a  step  forward  and  then  checked  himself.  He  saw  her 
slight  figure  flitting  through  the  trees,  and  then  she 
disappeared  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  toward  the 
inn. 

Soon  afterward  Berwick,  sitting  at  a  table  examining 
a  map  in  the  common  room,  which  was  on  the  ground 
floor  of  the  little  inn,  heard  the  door  open  behind  him, 
and  Michelle,  like  a  ghost,  passed  noiselessly  through 
the  room.  As  Berwick  respectfully  rose  she  halted  in- 
voluntarily. She  was  as  white  as  death,  and  she  passed 
her  hand  over  her  face  with  an  unconscious  gesture  of 
despair ;  then  going  upon  her  way  he  heard  her  mount 
the  stairs.     She  went  quickly  half-way  up,  then  stopped. 

277 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"  Can  I  assist  you,  mademoiselle  ? "  asked  Berwick 
from  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  No,  I  thank  you ;  no  one  at  all  can  be  of  the  least 
assistance  to  me,"  replied  Michelle's  voice  from  the  dark 
stairway.  In  pity  Berwick  left  her  and  returned  to  his 
maps. 

It  was  close  on  to  midnight  when  Roger  Egremont 
returned.  Berwick  had  become  so  interested  in  his 
maps  and  a  memorandum  he  was  writing  that  he  had 
forgotten  all  else  for  the  time,  and  when  Roger  came 
forward  Berwick  began  to  speak  as  if  all  that  had  been 
passing  in  his  mind  was  already  known  to  Roger. 

"Look  at  this,"  he  cried.  "If  we  can  secure  these 
two  places  and  fortify  them  as  we  should,  we  can  make 
the  passage  of  the  Rhine  at  our  pleasure,  and  halt  any 
enemy  who  comes  over  on  our  side  within  a  hundred 
miles.  I  shall  not,  however,  trust  this  Prince  of  Orla- 
munde's  word  for  the  work  being  done,  but  I  shall  make 
the  drawings  myself,  as  the  King  of  France  authorized 
me,  and  send  a  trusty  person  in  three  months  to  see  that 
all  is  properly  done,  and  that  he  does  not  take  our  mor- 
tars to  defend  his  capital.  The  whole  town  could  be 
planted  in  the  Hall  of  Mirrors  at  Versailles." 

Berwick  stopped.  Roger  had  come  forward  naturally 
enough  and  seated  himself  to  inspect  the  map,  but 
his  face  looked  as  pale  and  strange  as  Michelle's  had 
looked. 

"  What  ails  you,  man  ?  "  asked  Berwick,  kindly,  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  Roger's  shoulder. 

"  I  have  had  a  blow,"  replied  Roger,  breathing  heavily. 
"  I  feel  it  very  much  noAv ;  but  I  shall  be  myself  to- 
morrow, never  fear.     Now  show  me  the  drawings." 

Berwick  said  not  a  word,  but  showed  the  maps, 
talked,  and   explained   things  far  more  than  was   his 

278 


To  the  Gate  of  Paradise 

wont.  Roger  Egremont,  usually  the  more  talkative  of 
the  two,  spoke  not  a  single  word.  Occasionally  his 
eyes,  commonly  so  bright  and  clear,  now  dull  and  ex- 
pressionless, wandered  uneasily  about  the  room.  When 
a  neighboring  church  clock  struck  one,  Berwick  rose. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  a  man  must  sleep  sometimes.  We 
shall  be  awake  betimes  in  the  morning.  All  of  Orla- 
munde  will  be  here  to  meet  the  Princesse  Michelle.  She 
is  to  marry  the  Prince,  you  know." 

Berwick  turned  his  back  as  he  spoke  to  Roger,  and 
went  up  the  narrow  stair. 

Roger  had  a  little  room  over  Berwick's  head,  and 
under  the  sloping  roof.  All  night  long  Berwick  heard 
him  tossing  and  groaning  and  muttering.  At  daylight 
he  became  quiet,  and  Berwick,  whose  rest  he  had  much 
disturbed,  fell  into  a  deep  sleep.  From  this  he  was 
awakened  at  eight  o'clock  by  the  sound  of  merry  music, 
the  clang  of  horns  and  trumpets,  and  the  songs  of 
maidens.  The  peasants  around  about  had  made  bold 
to  salute  the  young  lady  who  was  to  become  the  bride 
of  their  Prince.  Berwick  saw  from  his  window 
Michelle,  beautifully  dressed,  standing  on  a  little  bal- 
cony, bathed  in  the  white  light  of  a  lovely  morning; 
she  was  kissing  her  hand  to  a  flock  of  merry 
peasant  girls  who  were  flinging  down  spring  flowers 
before  her  —  anemones,  the  sweet  narcissus,  jonquils 
and  crocus  and  violets  —  and  singing  verses  made  for 
the  occasion.  She  was  smiling  and  gracious  —  for  was 
she  not,  the  very  next  day,  to  marry  their  Prince? 


37« 


CHAPTER    Xin 

TKE  PALACE  OF  MONPLAISIR — THE  ABODE  OF  THE 
MOST  HIGH,  MOST  MIGHTY,  AND  MOST  PUISSANT 
PRINCE  OF   OELAMUNDE. 

THE  glory  and  beauty  of  that  April  day  would 
have  made  itself  felt  to  a  condemned  man  on 
his  way  to  execution.  The  earth  was  like  heaven  — 
so  fresh,  so  fragrant,  so  fair.  The  sky  was  one  great 
sapphire ;  the  little  airs  that  blew  wantonly  kissed 
the  new-born  leaves  in  love  and  sport.  The  vineyards 
smiled ;  the  little  river  Orla,  a  tributary  of  the  Rhine, 
laughed;  the  birds  and  the  butterflies  rioted  in  the 
sunshine. 

The  inn  was  astir  early,  the  peasants  singing  around 
it;  all  Orlamunde  was  released  from  work  that  day. 
At  nine  o'clock  a  courier  had  arrived  from  Orlamunde, 
notifying  the  party  from  France  that  state  coaches, 
ladies  and  gentlemen  in  waiting,  and  a  guard  of  honor 
were  on  their  way  to  meet  and  greet  their  new  princess, 
and  would  arrive  within  the  hour. 

The  courier  reported  to  Berwick,  who,  as  represent- 
ing the  King  of  France,  received  the  highest  deference. 
Roger  Egremont,  as  his  second  in  rank,  stood  with  him. 
When  the  courier,  with  many  bows  and  flourishes,  had 
concluded  his  tale,  Berwick  asked  briefly,  — 

"  And  the  letter  for  the  Princess  ?  " 

"  What  letter,  please  your  grace  ?  "  the  man  replied, 
shuflSing  uneasily  on  his  feet. 

360 


The  Palace  of  Monplaisir 

"The  letter  from  the  Prince  of  Orlamunde  to  the 
Princess  d'Orantia,"  replied  Berwick,  in  a  voice  of 
thunder,  meant  to  be  reported  to  the  Prince. 

"  There  is  no  letter,  please  your  grace,"  the  courier 
answered,  actually  blushing  for  his  master. 

Berwick  turned  to  Roger,  and  said  in  the  same  loud 
tone,  meant  to  be  overheard,  — 

"  What  will  his  Majesty  the  King  of  France  say  to 
this?" 

There  was  great  life,  movement,  and  bustle  all  about 
the  inn,  many  persons  to  be  seen  and  things  attended  to, 
and  as  Fran9ois  Delaunay  was  a  natural-born  inca- 
pable, much  of  it  fell  to  Roger  Egremont.  He  did  it 
all  perfectly  well,  being  quite  composed  and  master  of 
himself,  but  he  had  the  sensations  of  a  man  ridden  by 
a  nightmare. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  whole  party  except  the  Princess 
Michelle  and  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  were  collected 
in  the  garden  of  the  inn.  An  arch  of  flowers  had  been 
erected  at  the  entrance  to  the  garden,  and  from  it  to 
the  doorway  of  the  inn  was  a  double  row  of  young 
girls  in  white,  their  aprons  full  of  violets  and  hyacinths. 
And  pressing  close  on  all  sides  were  laughing,  sun- 
burned peasants,  men,  women,  and  children. 

The  highroad,  broad  and  straight  and  bordered  with 
sweet-scented  lindens,  was  in  full  view.  Presently 
the  silvery  echo  of  a  bugle  was  heard,  and  a  number 
of  mounted  trumpeters  heralded  the  advance  of  the 
state  coaches  and  escort.  The  road  had  been  newly 
watered  and  no  dust  obscured  the  pageant.  First 
came  the  trumpeters  in  a  handsome  livery  of  red  and 
gold.  They  were  followed  by  a  mounted  escort.  Next 
came  the  state  coaches,  two  great  machines  of  gilt  and 
glass,  one  —  the  most  splendid  —  empty,  the  other  one 

981 


The  House  of  Egremont 

containing  two  ladies,  very  magnificently  dressed,  and 
two  gentlemen  of  the  court,  blazing  with  uniforms  and 
orders ;  then  followed  another  detachment  of  the  guard 
of  honor.  This  escort,  of  five  hundred  men,  was  about 
half  the  whole  military  strength  of  Orlamunde. 

As  the  second  coach  drew  up  before  the  arch  of 
flowers,  the  two  gentlemen  of  the  court  descended,  and 
assisted  the  two  ladies  out.  Berwick  and  Roger  Egre- 
mont, who  stood  together  at  the  entrance  to  the  garden, 
heard  a  murmur  as  the  first  lady  was  recognized. 

"  The  Italian  woman,"  was  whispered  in  the  hearing 
of  Berwick  and  Roger  Egremont.  "Then  the  Prince 
could  not  persuade  the  Countess  Bertha  to  come.  Ah ! 
there  is  Madame  von  Roda.  She  was  more  obliging ; 
but  they  say  the  Prince  is  tired  of  her  —  and  her 
husband  has  come  back  too.  Where  is  he  to-day  any- 
how?" 

Berwick  and  Roger  exchanged  glances.  This,  then, 
was  the  greeting,  the  meeting,  the  escort  which  the 
Prince  of  Orlamunde  had  prepared  for  his  bride.  The 
lady  known  as  the  Italian  woman,  Madame  Marochetti 
by  name,  was  assisted  to  descend  from  the  coach  by  the 
two  gentlemen,  Count  Bernstein,  and  Baron  Reichenbach. 
Madame  Marochetti,  a  tall,  black-browed  creature  with  a 
walk  like  an  ostrich,  wore  a  scowl  which  would  have  dis- 
concerted an  ogre.  Madame  von  Roda  then  alighted. 
She  looked  like  a  grisette  of  the  Palais  Royal  dressed 
for  a  masquerade,  and  had  a  foolish,  pretty  face.  The 
gentlemen,  in  manners  and  appearance,  matched  the 
ladies. 

Berwick,  advancing,  formally  introduced  himself,  and 
then  introduced  Roger  Egremont  to  these  noble  repre- 
sentatives of  Orlamunde;  and  a  signal  being  given, 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir  appeared  at  the  door  of   the 

282 


The  Palace  of  Monplaisir 

inn,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  Fran9ois  Delaunay, 
who  was  very  handsomely  dressed,  and  looked  fright- 
ened to  death. 

Never  had  Roger  Egremont  seen  the  laughing  devil 
in  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  eye  more  rampant  than 
at  that  moment.  The  state  assumed  by  Orlamunde 
really  amused  her  vastly,  and  she  appraised  instantly, 
and  at  their  true  value,  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who 
had  been  selected  to  receive  their  new  Princess. 

Madame  de  Beaumanoir  had  not  thought  it  worth  while 
to  adorn  herself  especially  for  the  occasion.  She  wore 
an  ancient  green  brocade,  which  both  Roger  and  Berwick 
recalled  she  had  told  them  she  had  worn  in  the  glorious 
days  of  King  Charles  the  Second.  On  her  head,  how- 
ever, sparkled  a  splendid  coronet,  —  thus  emphasizing 
the  fact  that  she  could  have  dressed  herself  grandly 
had  she  desired.  There  was  much  bowing  and  courtesy- 
ing,  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  going  through  it  with 
an  indescribable  air  of  affected  seriousness. 

"  And  how  is  my  cousin  of  Orlamunde  ?  Very 
well  and  anxiously  expecting  his  bride,"  she  said,  an- 
swering her  own  question  before  anybody  else  could. 
"  Well,  I  hope  he  will  like  what  I  bring  him.  But  one 
never  can  tell  about  these  foreign  marriages.  At  all 
events,  you  seem  to  have  a  very  pleasant  little  country 
here,  and  I  expect  to  stay  as  long  as  I  find  it  agreeable." 

Roger  distinctly  saw  one  of  the  court  gentlemen 
shudder  at  this,  while  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  putting 
up  her  glass,  coolly  surveyed  the  two  ladies  from  the 
crowns  of  their  heads  to  the  soles  of  their  rather  large 
feet,  exactly  as  if  she  were  examining  a  couple  of  new 
and  curious  reptiles. 

There  was  a  pause,  broken  by  a  burst  of  young  voices 
that  rang  in  the   morning  air,  not  unlike   the   sweet, 

288 


The  House  of  Egremont 

shrill  bird-songs;  the  white-robed  girls  were  singing 
their  bridal  song;  and  Michelle  appeared,  walking 
alone  down  the  broad  garden  path,  flower-strewn. 

She  wore  a  gorgeous  satin  robe  of  the  color  of  a  pale 
sky.  Over  her  shoulders  was  a  rich  mantle  of  velvet 
of  a  darker  blue,  embroidered  in  gold  and  pearls  with 
the  arms  of  Orlamunde.  Her  head  was  bare,  except  for 
a  flashing  coronet  that  glittered  in  the  sunshine.  She 
walked  with  slow  and  stately  grace,  her  head  uplifted, 
and  bore  not  the  slightest  trace  of  either  fear  or 
agitation. 

Roger  Egremont  had  never  reckoned  her  as  a  strictly 
beautiful  woman,  although  he  had  sometimes  seen  her 
blaze  forth  in  sudden  loveliness.  But  to-day  she  had 
a  kind  of  unearthly  beauty,  that  went  to  men's  heads 
like  wine.  A  great,  involuntary  shout  rose  from  the 
watching  and  waiting  people,  who  were  dazzled  by  her, 
—  a  rich  blush  covering  her  creamy  cheeks,  her  black 
eyes  like  twin  stars,  her  red  mouth  half  curved  in  a 
smile.  It  occurred  to  Roger  Egremont  that  the  gor- 
geous dress  she  wore  had  something  to  do  with  the 
splendor  of  her  beauty.  He  remembered  that  Bess 
Lukens  —  he  had  scarce  remembered  there  was  such 
a  person  in  the  world  as  Bess  Lukens,  since  he  left 
France  —  always  looked  handsomer  in  a  stuff  gown, 
with  a  linen  cap  and  apron ;  some  women  were  made 
for  grandeur  and  some  were  not.  Michelle  was  one 
of  the  first-named. 

And  then  she  was  curtseying  to  her  new  ladies,  and 
Madame  Marochetti  was  looking  at  her  with  insolent 
curiosity,  which  Michelle  bore  with  cool  composure ; 
it  was  not  in  the  power  of  a  Marochetti  or  a  von  Roda 
to  disconcert  this  proud  Princess.  And  the  gentlemen 
were  bowing  to  the   ground  before  her,  and  she  was 

384 


The  Palace  of  Monplaisir 

accepting  their  assistance  into  the  coach  with  a  splen- 
did air  which  would  have  graced  an  empress. 

Madame  Marochetti  and  Madame  von  Roda  then  got 
into  the  coach  in  which  Michelle  was,  seating  them- 
selves on  the  front  seat,  Michelle  sitting  alone  on  the 
back  seat.  They  bent  their  impudent  gaze  on  her,  but 
met  with  a  cool  disdain  in  her  answering  glance,  that 
gave  them  small  satisfaction. 

Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  with  the  two  gentlemen-in- 
waiting,  got  into  the  second  coach.  Berwick,  Roger 
Egremont,  and  Fran§ois  Delaunay  rode  their  horses. 

It  was  five  miles  to  Orlamunde,  and  every  step  of 
the  way  there  was  welcome  in  some  form  —  cheering, 
singing  peasants  by  the  roadside,  triumphal  arches,  and 
flowers.  The  town  of  Orlamunde  presently  came  in 
sight.  A  handsome  stone  bridge  across  the  river  led 
to  the  main  part  of  it.  There  was  on  an  eminence  a 
dingy  old  building,  half  fortress,  half  schloss,  in  which 
the  lords  of  Orlamunde  had  dwelt  for  many  centuries. 
But  as,  like  most  of  the  princelings  of  that  day,  the 
Princes  of  Orlamunde  copied  as  far  as  they  could  the 
methods  and  manners  of  Louis  le  Grand,  a  brand  new 
palace,  a  miniature  Versailles,  whose  towers  and  pinna- 
cles gleamed  whitely  above  the  young  greenery  of  a 
large  park,  was  visible  to  the  left  of  the  town.  A  broad, 
straight  avenue,  as  broad  and  as  straight  as  the  terrace 
at  St.  Germains,  led  to  this  white  palace,  amid  its  park 
and  gardens.  Clipped  trees  bordered  the  great  avenue, 
and  at  intervals  were  statues,  fountains,  and  bridges; 
and  a  noble  marble  terrace,  with  fountains  of  spouting 
dolphins,  led  up  to  the  main  entrance  of  this  palace, 
named  Monplaisir  by  its  builder,  the  father  of  the  present 
Prince. 

All  this,  Roger  Egremont  saw  as  he  rode  briskly 
285 


The  House  of  Egremont 

behind  the  carriage  containing  the  woman  who  was 
to  be  mistress  of  this  sweet  domain,  —  that  is,  as  far 
as  Madame  Marochetti  and  Countess  von  Roda  would 
let  her,  and  the  Countess  Bertha,  as  yet  unseen,  but 
whom  he  justly  reckoned  to  be  the  worst  of  the  lot. 
Nothing  escaped  his  eye,  although  he  felt  as  if  he 
were  acting  a  part  in  a  bad  dream.  He  had  expected 
to  see  poverty  and  squalor  on  every  hand,  showing 
the  price  the  people  of  Orlamunde  had  to  pay  for 
having  so  magnificent  a  prince,  and  was  rather  dis- 
appointed at  the  general  signs  of  prosperity,  both  in 
the  country  and  the  little  capital. 

And,  lo,  they  were  approaching  the  ancient  gateway 
of  the  town,  with  its  drawbridge  and  stone  gate-house 
pierced  for  arquebuses.  And  there  was  a  glittering 
procession  made  up  of  the  whole  court,  awaiting  the 
bride,  and  making  a  splendor  of  color  in  the  sunny 
noon,  with  the  ivy-clad  gateway  and  battlements  for 
background.  And  in  the  very  centre  of  the  gateway, 
sat  on  a  noble  roan  horse  the  Prince  of  Orlamunde. 

Roger  Egremont,  who  had  keen  eyes,  studied  this 
man  closely,  as  they  neared  each  other.  He  had  a 
well  made  figure,  and  his  face  was  not  unhandsome, 
but  his  eye,  his  mouth,  his  expression,  —  all  that  part 
of  his  physiognomy  which  a  man  makes  for  himself 
was  odious  and  despicable  beyond  comparison.  As 
they  neared  the  gate,  Berwick  whispered,  — 

"If  I  were  a  woman,  I  should  not  like  to  be  his 
wife." 

As  the  coach  of  state  drew  up,  the  Prince  wheeled 
his  horse  aside,  took  off  his  plumed  hat,  and  bowed 
low  to  Michelle.  An  equerry  then  quickly  opening 
the  coach  door,  Madame  Marochetti  and  the  von  Roda 
descended.    What  a  look  the  Italian  woman  flashed 

S86 


The  Palace  of  Monplaisir 

from  her  eyes !  —  and  what  a  stealthy  grin  the  Prince 
flashed  back  at  her!  The  Prince  entered  the  coach, 
and  side  by  side  he  and  Michelle  entered  the  little 
capital  together. 

The  procession,  augmented  by  the  Prince's  party,  by 
a  civic  parade,  and  the  rest  of  the  army  of  Orlamunde, 
proceeded  by  slow  degrees  to  the  dingy  old  schloss. 
Here  Michelle  was  to  spend  the  last  day  of  her  maiden 
life,  and  to  be  married  on  the  morrow ;  for  the  former 
Princes  of  Orlamunde  had  built  a  chapel  in  the  schloss, 
but  the  last  Prince  had  not  remembered  to  include  a 
chapel  in  his  new  palace  of  Monplaisir;  nor  had  his 
son  and  successor  repaired  this  singular  oversight. 
Therefore  must  the  marriage  ceremony  take  place  at  the 
schloss. 

Arrived  in  the  old  courtyard,  with  a  cheering  crowd 
outside,  the  Prince  descended  from  the  coach,  and  as- 
sisted Michelle  to  the  pavement.  Roger,  amid  the 
throng  of  court  people,  stood  close  to  Berwick,  and  as 
he  caught  sight  of  the  Prince's  face,  observed  that  he 
looked  as  black  as  midnight.  Evidently  his  first  inter- 
view with  his  handsome  bride  had  not  been  wholly 
satisfactory.  And  as  for  Madame  Marochetti,  she  looked 
like  an  embodied  thunder-cloud.  Madame  von  Roda 
wore  an  air  of  meek  resignation.  The  Countess  Bertha 
had,  so  far,  not  appeared. 

There  was  an  hour  of  rest  for  the  party,  an  hour 
spent  by  Roger  Egremont  in  the  room  assigned  him  in 
an  old  tower  of  the  schloss.  It  was  one  of  the  most 
wretched  hours  of  his  life.  Being  essentially  of  a  noble 
nature,  and  disposed  to  fight  against  the  devil  which 
could  not  wholly  be  dislodged  from  him  —  or  from  any 
other  man,  for  that  matter — his  own  misery  was  hugely 
increased  by  the  prospect  of  Michelle's  torments.     For 

287 


The  House  of  Egremont 

that  she  could  ever  be  happy,  or  even  be  decently 
treated  by  the  Prince  of  Orlamunde,  he  felt  perfectly 
sure  was  impossible  from  the  little  he  had  already  seen 
and  heard.  Had  there  been  a  prospect  of  her  happiness, 
had  her  husband  been  a  man  whose  hand  he  could  take, 
whose  word  he  could  believe  —  ah,  it  would  have  been 
different.  He  had  made  no  protestations  of  unselfish 
love  to  Michelle  the  night  before,  —  nay,  he  had  then 
only  spoken  of  his  own  hurt  and  humiliation  —  but  he 
forgot  his  own  sufferings  in  thinking  of  hers.  And  as 
she  had  truly  said,  hers  would  be  the  heavier  part.  He 
would  go  forth  a  disappointed  man,  compelled  to  find 
in  life  the  best  substitute  he  could  for  happiness.  She 
was  chained  to  a  man  she  would  soon  hate,  if  she  did 
not  already  hate  him,  insulted  by  the  presence  of  the 
women  he  placed  about  her,  alone  in  a  foreign  land; 
her  case  was  indeed  hard.  He  could  have  groaned 
aloud  as  he  thought  of  her. 

At  two  o'clock  came  a  banquet  in  the  great  Ritter- 
saal  of  the  schloss.  The  guests  were  placed  at  the  vast 
table,  Roger  in  a  seat  of  honor  next  Berwick.  When 
all  were  seated,  a  flourish  of  silver  trumpets  announced 
the  entrance  of  the  Prince  and  Michelle.  They  entered, 
preceded  by  the  Italian  woman  and  Count  Bernstein. 
The  Prince  led  Michelle  to  the  head  of  the  table,  and 
placed  himself  by  her,  and  the  banquet  proceeded. 

Roger  Egremont  had  been  accustomed  to  seeing  men 
drink,  both  in  England  and  in  France.  But  he  never  saw 
any  man  drink  as  did  the  Prince  of  Orlamunde,  who  re- 
mained, however,  apparently  sober.  He  talked  occa- 
sionally with  Michelle,  and  exchanged  a  few  words 
with  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  who  sat  on  his  left.  The 
old  duchess  was  singularly  quiet.  Roger  had  expected, 
from  the  expression  in  her  sharp,  bright  old  eyes  that 

288 


The  Palace  of  Monplaisir 

morning,  that  there  would  be  a  regular  outbreak  of  sar- 
casm and  impertinence  from  her;  but  she  was  almost 
polite  to  her  cousin  of  Orlamunde. 

Through  the  whole  tedious  affair,  lasting  some  hours, 
Michelle  sat  composed  and  even  smiling.  Roger  would 
have  feared  for  her  less  had  she  shown  more  feeling,  more 
apprehension  at  what  was  before  her.  But  she  might 
have  been  past  all  emotion,  for  any  she  showed.  She 
did  not  even  wince  when,  toward  the  close  of  the 
feast,  a  footman  brought  the  Prince,  by  his  order,  a  gilt 
basket  containing  four  puppies,  which  the  Prince  fed 
from  his  plate,  and  conversed  with,  to  the  absolute 
neglect  of  his  bride. 

When  the  dinner  was  over,  it  was  near  sunset.  As 
soon  as  darkness  came,  there  were  to  be  fireworks  in 
the  town.  Until  then,  all  were  free  to  do  as  they 
pleased.  Roger,  consumed  with  a  furious  restlessness, 
sought  Madame  de  Beaumanoir. 

"  So  you  have  come  to  tell  me  you  think  my  cousin 
of  Orlamunde  is  a  brute,"  was  her  greeting,  as  Roger 
entered  her  saloon.  "Well,  I  am  of  the  same  mind. 
I  told  Michelle  not  half  an  hour  ago,  that  she  would 
do  well  to  establish  some  sort  of  communication  with 
France,  so  that  if  she  should  be  obliged  to  run  away 
from  this  precious  Prince,  with  his  puppies  in  gilt  baskets 
and  his  Marochettis  and  his  von  Rodas,  she  would  have 
a  place  of  refuge." 

Was  it  already  gone  so  far  as  this  ?  thought  Roger, 
trembling  for  the  woman  he  loved.  It  was  not,  then, 
his  own  sad  and  jealous  fancy  that  made  him  feel  that 
Michelle  was  doomed.  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  feared 
for  her,  Berwick  feared  for  her.  Roger  listening  in 
bitter  silence,  the  old  lady  continued:  "The  Beau- 
manoirs  have  an  old  chateau,  half  of  it  tumbled  down, 
19  289 


The  House  of  Egremont 

on  the  frontier  near  Pont-k-mousson,  —  a  hoi-rid,  lonely 
place.  I  have  told  Michelle  of  it,  and  how  to  reach  it. 
She  laughed  at  me  —  strange  girl  that  she  is ;  but  she 
may  yet  be  glad  to  fly  to  the  old  rookery  of  the  Chateau 
de  la  Rivifere  —  it  stands  on  a  little  river." 

Roger  said  presently,  with  bitterness,  — 

"  Mademoiselle  d'Orantia  is  a  very  courageous  woman. 
She  has  probably  made  up  her  mind  to  endui-e  her  lot. 
She  chose  it  for  herself."   . 

"  Oh,  Lord,  yes !  But  there  are  some  things  flesh 
and  blood  cannot  endure,  as  my  Lord  Clarendon  told 
my  blessed  prince,  King  Charles,  when  he  would  have 
the  Castlemaine  woman  about  his  wife,  —  the  one  who 
so  hated  your  father,  my  dear." 

The  wrongs  and  sorrows  of  his  father  did  not  greatly 
trouble  Roger  Egremont  then. 

Finding  that  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  rather  sharpened 
the  edge  of  his  pain,  Roger  left  her.  He  met  Berwick, 
and  the  two  walked  about  the  town  and  its  environs 
until  dark.     Berwick  had  the  same  tale  to  tell. 

"  A  thorough-going  scoundrel,  if  ever  I  saw  one,  is  this 
precious  Prince.  I  swear,  much  as  I  want  those  two 
places  to  fortify  on  the  river  bank,  I  would  not,  like  the 
French  King,  have  given  this  fair  girl  in  payment  for 
them.     She  is  but  a  pawn  on  the  board.     Orlamunde 

—  damn  him  for  a  rascal !  —  wanted  the  money  which 
the  King  pretends  to  give  as  a  dowry  with  Mademoiselle, 

—  it  is  no  dowry,  but  a  good,  big,  barefaced  bribe, — 
and  the  King  wanted  those  two  places,  on  which  to 
mount  a  couple  of  dozen  cannon,  which,  with  five 
hundred  men,  could  check  the  advance  of  five  thou- 
sand; and  this  girl  was  simply  the  human  document 
which  attests  their  evil  bargain.     And  she  —  rash  girl ! 

—  was  willing,  nay,  eager  for  it  in  the  beginning." 

290 


The  Palace  of  Monplaisir 

"  And  you  think  she  —  she  —  changed  ?  " 

Berwick  looked  down  at  Roger,  who  was  not  so  tall 
as  he. 

"  Yes,  —  so  much,  that  I  was  afraid  she  would  turn 
back  on  the  journey.  I  had  not  then  seen  this  Prince, 
an  I  tried  to  warn  Mademoiselle  d'Oi-antia  that  she 
had  gone  too  far  to  retreat.  God  forgive  me  if  I 
advised  her  ill.  But  I  shall  not  leave  this  white  dove 
quite  unprotected  amid  the  vultures.  I  have  full  power 
from  His  Majesty,  and  not  a  stiver  does  this  scoundrel 
Prince  get,  unless  his  wife  is  willing  to  live  with  him. 
The  day  Orlamunde  becomes  intolerable  to  her,  that 
day  does  the  Prince  cease  to  receive  the  two  hundred 
thousand  livres  which  we  pay,  together  with  this  un- 
fortunate girl,  for  Mondberg  and  Arnheim.  This  I 
shall  make  plain  before  I  leave  this  cursed  place." 

At  night  the  fireworks  were  very  splendid.  Roger, 
standing  on  a  balcony  near  Michelle,  tried  to  watch  her, 
but  Countess  von  Roda  claimed  his  attention.  She 
liked  the  looks  of  this  clean-limbed,  bright-eyed  young 
man  better  than  the  tall  and  silent  Berwick  —  she  had 
already  found  out  his  name  —  the  Pike.  But  she 
thought  Monsieur  d'Egremont,  as  she  called  him, 
rather  a  sulky  fellow.  Not  only  Roger's  name  became 
French,  but  everything  at  Orlamunde  was  more  French 
than  at  Paris.  The  court  people  uttered  not  a  word  of 
any  other  language  but  French,  which  they  spoke  with 
a  fearful  accent.  Following  the  fireworks  was  a  con- 
cert, in  which  the  songs  were  all  French,  and  the  fiddles 
fiddled  only  French  airs.  Michelle  went  through  it  all 
with  the  same  smiling  courage  she  had  shown  from 
the  beginning.  It  was  midnight  before  all  was  over. 
The  marriage  was  to  take  place  next  day  at  noon. 

Roger  Egremont  went  to  his  room,  to  rest  and  to 

291 


The  House  of  Egremont 

think  —  but  not  expecting  to  sleep.  However,  throwing 
himself  upon  his  bed,  sleep  suddenly  overtook  him  — 
and  he  lay  in  a  heavy  and  dreamless  slumber  until  next 
morning,  when  the  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens.  He 
was  wakened  by  the  blowing  of  silver  trumpets  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  schloss,  in  honor  of  Michelle's  wedding 
day. 

Men  have  been  known  to  sleep  the  night  before 
execution,  and  they  invariably  make  a  careful  toilet 
when  preparing  for  that  interesting  occasion.  This  oc- 
curred to  Roger  when,  after  having  been  immaculately 
shaved  by  Berwick's  man,  he  proceeded  to  dress  himself 
carefully  in  his  suit  of  green  and  silver,  with  his  waist- 
coat of  rose  brocade.  His  chestnut  curls,  innocent  of 
powder,  —  for  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  wear  any- 
thing but  his  own  hair,  —  lay  upon  his  well  made 
shoulders  ;  his  complexion  was  ruddy  with  health  and 
youth  ;  in  short,  had  he  been  preparing  for  his  own 
hanging,  he  could  not  have  been  more  solicitous  to 
make  a  good  appearance.  And  he  succeeded  so  well 
that,  although  he  had  nothing  on  this  earth  which  he  could 
actually  call  his  own  except  the  clothes  on  his  back, 
and  a  few  more  in  his  portmanteau,  and  his  horse,  Merry- 
legs,  he  might  very  well  have  pleased  a  lady's  eye  — 
as  he  undoubtedly  had  pleased  Countess  von  Roda's. 
He  esteemed  the  lady  but  lightly,  however,  and  had  let 
several  occasions  for  impudence  to  her  pass  unnoticed 
the  night  before  —  much  to  her  disgust.  He  was  long 
in  dressing,  and  when  he  was  at  last  through,  Berwick 
knocked  at  his  door.  Berwick,  too,  was  very  nobly 
dressed,  with  his  orders  upon  his  breast,  but  he  looked 
even  more  grave  than  usual. 

"  God  forgive  me  for  any  part  I  had  in  this  affair," 
he  said. 

292 


The  Palace  of  Monplaisir 

At  noon,  the  chapel  in  the  schloss  was  a  blaze  of  gold 
and  color ;  the  Cardinal-Archbishop  upon  his  throne,  with 
shining  mitre  and  jewelled  crozier ;  the  altar,  with  its 
robed  priests,  and  glowing  with  a  myriad  of  wax-lights  ; 
the  sanctuary  lamp,  like  a  great  burning  ruby  ;  the  sun 
sifting  through  the  gorgeous  stained  windows,  —  all,  all 
was  beauty. 

The  bridal  procession  entered  to  the  sound  of  joyous 
music,  —  the  bridegroom,  in  his  mantle  of  state,  lead- 
ing his  bride ;  Michelle,  in  a  white  glory  of  satin  and 
lace  and  pearls,  her  rich  hair  unbound  and  flowing  over 
her  shoulders,  a  circlet  of  diamonds  gleaming  upon  her 
head,  two  beautiful  boys  holding  up  her  long  train  of 
rose-colored  velvet,  sewn  with  jewels  and  bordered  with 
ermine,  —  looking,  as  she  had  done  the  day  before,  ap- 
pealingly  beautiful.  With  bell,  book,  and  candle  was 
she  married  to  the  most  high,  most  mighty,  and  most 
puissant  Karl,  Prince  of  Orlamunde,  with  many  other 
titles  and  dignities.  And  he  unblushingly  took  the 
vows  of  faithfulness  upon  himself,  calling  God  to  wit- 
ness them. 

The  marriage  being  over,  a  loud  crashing  of  bells,  and 
clanging  of  trumpets  and  horns,  and  thunder  of  drums, 
and  roar  of  artillery,  drowned  the  bridal  music  as  the 
procession  passed  from  the  chapel  to  the  Hall  of  Knights, 
and  Michelle  was  proclaimed  by  all  her  new  dignities. 
Then  there  was  another  procession  along  the  great  avenue 
to  Monplaisir,  where  a  banquet  and  ball  were  to  follow ; 
for  Prince  Karl  could  by  no  means  endure  the  old 
schloss,  and  would  not  remain  a  moment  in  it  longer 
than  he  could  help. 

The  April  sun  shone  on  the  state  carriages,  horsed 
with  four  and  six  horses,  on  cavaliers,  on  coaches,  and 
on  a  merry  throng  of  townspeople  and  country  folk  lin- 

293 


The  House  of  Egremont 

ing  the  broad  avenue,  where  the  horse-chestnuts  were 
pushing  their  pale  pink  leaves  through  their  green 
sheaths.  And  the  fair  palace  shone  beautifully  in  the 
sun,  the  dolphins  on  the  marble  terrace  spouting  wine, 
and  a  whole  regiment  of  soldiers  —  the  regiment  for 
which  both  Louis  of  France  and  William  of  Orange 
were  chaffering  —  was  paraded,  and  it  was  very  grand 
and  glorious ;  quite  like  Versailles,  so  Roger  Egremont 
told  several  ladies,  who  nearly  embraced  him  in  their 
ecstasy  at  this  compliment. 

The  banquet  was  very  gay,  and  the  Prince  drank 
quite  as  much  wine  as  the  day  before.  The  puppies 
did  not  appear  this  time.  Madame  Marochetti  en- 
livened things  by  fainting,  or  pretending  to  faint,  just 
as  the  bride's  health  was  proposed.  The  Countess 
von  Roda,  who  still  fancied  Roger,  and  sat  next  him 
at  the  banquet,  whispered  to  him,  sadly,  "My  friend, 
my  heart  is  wrung.  I  am  a  deserted  woman.  You 
cannot  have  been  at  Orlamunde  twenty-four  hours 
without  knowing  that  I  —  I  —  was  once  loved  by  the 
dear  Prince."  And  then  she  fell  to  upon  a  fat  capon 
and  devoured  it  to  the  bones,  meanwhile  telling  her 
mournful  tale  in  Roger's  ear;  he,  inwardly  raging 
and  palpitating  with  agony,  forced  to  laugh,  in  spite 
of  himself;  for  the  sorrows  of  Madame  von  Roda, 
as  she  told  them,  would  have  made  a  man  laugh  on 
his  way  to  the  gallows. 

The  ball  followed  in  the  evening,  —  more  lights, 
more  music,  more  everything.  Roger  was  not  now 
reckoned  good  enough  to  dance  with  Michelle  in  the 
minuet  de  la  cour,  so  he  could  only  stand  off  and  watcli 
her  as  she  moved  with  splendid  grace  through  the  dance, 
her  husband  quite  oblivious  of  her,  and  his  attention 
fixed,  this  time,  not  upon  puppies,  but  upon  a  handsome 

294 


The  Palace  of  Monplaisir 

lady,  who  chose  to  appear  and  to  sit  in  a  conspicuous 
place  in  a  very  melancholy  attitude.  This  was  the 
Countess  Bertha,  who,  her  curiosity  having  finally  got 
the  better  of  her  chagrin,  chose  to  appear  at  the  ball. 
And  when  the  dance  was  over,  she  came  up  and  de- 
manded to  be  presented  to  the  Princess  of  Orlamunde 
by  the  Prince  himself.  This,  that  worthy  person  did, 
with  much  obsequiousness,  and  was  received  by  the 
Princess  with  perfect  dignity  and  composure. 

The  eyes  of  all,  however,  were  fixed  on  the  great 
archway  leading  into  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans,  a  mag- 
nificent room,  with  walls  of  mirrors  and  silver  swans 
embossed  upon  them.  Overhead,  the  painted  ceiling 
told  the  story  of  Leda  and  her  lover,  Jupiter.  In  this 
saloon,  tables  were  laid  for  play.  The  Duke  of  Mayerne, 
esteemed  the  prince  of  gamblers  in  Europe,  was  present ; 
already,  ten  of  his  lackeys  in  green  velvet,  with  gold 
chains  around  their  necks,  were  bringing  in  little  bags 
of  gold,  over  which  they  stood  guard.  The  dancing 
was  soon  over, —  play  being  the  more  fascinating  of  the 
two  great  amusements  of  the  court  of  Orlamunde, — 
and  the  whole  company  trooped  into  the  saloon  to  play 
primero  and  quadrille.  At  the  Prince's  own  table  were 
his  new-made  Princess,  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  the 
Countess  Bertha,  the  Duke  of  Mayerne,  the  Duke  of 
Berwick,  Count  Bernstein,  and  Madame  Marochetti. 
Roger  surveyed  the  party,  and  his  heart  swelled  for 
Michelle.  Except  Berwick,  and  Madame  de  Beaumanoir, 
what  company  was  this  for  her  ?  Professed  gamblers, 
low  women.  Berwick  was  the  only  gentleman  —  nay, 
the  only  man,  —  at  the  table. 

As  the  play  progressed,  he  heard  Berwick  utter  an 
exclamation,  and  then  say,  smilingly,  "  I  beg  your  par- 
don, Monsieur ;  I  was  mistaken,  I  see,"  and  go  on  play- 

295 


The  House  of  Egremont 

ing.  Soon,  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  shrill  tones  rose 
over  the  murmur  of  voices,  the  occasional  bursts  of 
laughter,  — 

"Oh,  come  now,  Prince!  play  your  cards  straight^ 
like  a  gentleman." 

"  Madam,"  said  the  Prince,  scowling  at  her,  "  pray, 
proceed ;  is  it  not  your  play  ?  " 

"  God  knows,"  replied  Madame  de  Beaumanoir ;  "  I 
never  played  in  so  queer  a  game  before.  I  must  be  get- 
ting old  —  or  the  cards  are  drunk." 

At  this  moment  Countess  von  Roda  whispered  in 
Roger's  ear,  — 

"  And  the  Countess  Bertha  was  asked  to  the  Prince's 
table,  and  I  was  not !  And  she  has  been  most  un- 
amiable  to  the  Prince  about  his  marriage ;  while 
Madame  Marochetti  and  I  actually  went  to  meet  the 
bride ! " 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  as  good  as  either  of  them," 
bluntly  replied  Roger ;  and  then  a  laugh  from  the 
Prince  cut  the  air ;  it  was  so  harsh,  so  discordant  — 
Roger  had  never  heard  him  laugh  before,  and  it  was 
not  pleasant  to  hear. 

That  evening  was  twenty-four  hours  long  to  Roger 
Egremont.  At  twelve  o'clock  it  was  time  to  leave. 
Roger,  with  Berwick,  went  to  bid  the  Prince  and  Prin- 
cess good-night ;  Roger  mentally  resolving  that  it  should 
also  be  good-bye.  For  one  moment,  as  he  stood  bowing 
before  Michelle,  their  eyes  met,  and  they  looked  steadily 
at  each  other.  That  look  was,  in  some  sort,  a  pledge  of 
eternal  constancy.  He  hardly  knew  how  he  got  out  of 
the  palace,  and  found  himself  walking  along  the  avenue 
of  horse-chestnuts,  the  statues  standing  out  like  ghosts 
in  the  misty  light  of  a  languid  yellow  moon.  Berwick 
was  with  him,  and  stalked  along  silently.     He  spoke 

296 


. ,^,^ ^.„  ,„_. , :^::„ ,  ,„„„„„ .,, :.„;  .J  ":~M ,,. ,  ,„„„„,,, ,,., , .:,  1;, 


THEY  WAIT  TO  BID  THE  PRINCESS   GOOD-NIGHT 


The  Palace  of  Monplaisir 

but  once,  and  then  in  a  voice  of  concentrated  rage  and 
disgust. 

"  This  palace  of  Monplaisir  is  a  den  of  thieves.  They 
cheat  at  cards  ;  the  women  deceive  the  men,  the  men 
think  they  deceive  the  women.  Oh,  what  a  hell  will 
that  poor  girl  find  herself  in !  " 

Roger  spoke  not  one  word  until  they  came  near  the 
town. 

"  I  will  not  go  back  to  my  lodging  just  now.  I  like 
the  fresh  air  and  the  wind ;  it  does  one  good  after  the 
nauseous  company  we  have  been  in.  Can  we  not  leave 
to-morrow  ?  " 

"  By  God,  we  shall,"  replied  Berwick.  "  My  errand 
is  done.  I  have  now  only  to  do  my  work  as  a  soldier ; 
and  as  for  fearing  to  offend  that  miserable  apology  for  a 
man  and  a  prince,  he  is  worth  no  man's  enmity." 

"  Arrange  it  so  that  I  may  be  excused  from  a  farewell 
visit,"  asked  Roger. 

"  I  will.  You  must  have  a  cold  and  fever  to-morrow, 
which  will  only  abate  at  the  hour  fixed  for  us  to  start. 
I  will  be  out  of  this  place,  please  God,  by  noon." 

Roger  turned  off  from  the  town  into  the  fields  and 
woods.  He  wished  to  be  away  from  the  sight  of  that 
white  palace,  from  which  the  lights  in  the  windows 
were  disappearing  one  by  one.  Yet  it  seemed  as  if  he 
could  always  see  it  whenever  he  looked  backward,  until 
he  climbed  the  wooded  heights  around  the  town,  and 
plunged  into  the  heart  of  the  forest. 

He  wandered  about  in  the  woods  the  whole  night. 
He  felt  that,  had  he  been  cooped  up  in  that  one  room  in 
the  dingy  schloss,  he  should  have  gone  mad.  But  in  his 
agony  he  again  became  the  primitive  man.  As  at  Egre- 
mont,  he  found  a  kind  of  solace  in  the  moist  earth,  the 
solemn  trees,  the  inscrutable  stars.     At  least,  pain  was 

297 


The  House  of  Egremont 

more  easily  borne  in  the  woods  than  under  a  roof. 
When  he  considered  how  many  summers  and  winters, 
how  many  lifetimes,  those  ancient  trees  had  seen ;  what 
vast  years  the  rocks  and  hills  had  known  ;  for  how  many 
aeons  those  glittering,  palpitating  stars  had  looked  down 
upon  the  miseries,  the  toils,  the  graves  of  men,  he  felt 
himself  and  his  own  sorrows  become  insignificant.  The 
thought  of  the  briefness  of  life,  the  little  time  wherein 
there  was  a  flicker  of  breath  in  man,  was  comforting  to 
him.  If  one  could  suffer  for  long  as  he  was  suffering, 
and  as  that  unfortunate  girl  was  suffering,  the  earth 
would  be  intolerable. 

Toward  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  had  reached 
the  limit  of  pain.  A  man  can  only  suffer  so  much,  then 
relief  must  come.  The  ghastly  moon,  that  had  seemed 
to  follow  him  all  night,  was  going  down  in  the  west. 
In  the  east  there  was  a  faint  glory  that  heralded  the 
dawn.  Amid  the  awakening  of  the  birds,  and  all  the 
sights  and  sounds  that  mark  the  miracle  of  a  new  day, 
Roger  Egremont  was  overcome  by  that  wretched  sleep 
which  eludes  the  night,  and  comes  only  at  daybreak. 
With  his  cloak  wrapped  about  him,  he  lay  down  under  a 
low-branched  cedar  tree,  and  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep. 

It  was  long  past  sunrise  when  he  awaked.  He  was 
in  his  right  mind  then,  and  rising,  went  and  washed  his 
face  in  a  neighboring  stream,  and  examined  himself 
carefully.  His  suit  of  green  and  silver  was  wet  with 
dew  and  full  of  earth  stains  —  altogether  wretched.  He 
had  worn,  the  night  before,  a  hat  with  plumes  in  it ; 
but  it  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 

A  peasant's  cottage  could  be  seen  about  a  mile  off. 
Roger  made  for  it.  A  man  was  slouching  out  of  the 
cottage  when  Roger,  leaping  the  hedge,  came  upon  him. 
He  looked  at  Roger,  and  his  mouth  came  open  in  a  grin. 

298 


The  Palace  of  Monplaisir 

Truly,  this  scion  of  the  Egremonts  looked  ridiculous 
enough,  with  his  smart  clothes  wet  and  stained  with 
mud,  and  the  hood  of  his  riding-cloak  over  his  head  in 
lieu  of  a  hat. 

"Come,  my  man,"  said  Roger,  not  at  all  offended, 
*'  have  you  not  a  hat  you  can  sell  me  ?  And  will  not 
your  good  wife  clean  the  mud  off  my  cloak,  at  least  ?  " 

Both  of  those  things  were  accomplished  by  the  power 
of  money,  and  the  peasant,  yoking  a  horse  to  a  rude 
cart,  drove  Roger  to  the  edge  of  the  town.  From 
thence  he  managed  to  get  to  the  schloss  unobserved. 
He  had  just  changed  his  clothes,  and  looked  once  more 
the  gentleman,  when  Berwick  knocked  at  the  door.  He 
wore  his  riding-dress. 

"  Come,"  he  said ;  "  we  can  depart  on  the  instant. 
I  have  told  all  the  necessary  lies  for  you.  The  old 
Duchess  was  mad  to  see  you,  and  plainly  told  me  she 
knew  I  was  lying  when  I  said  you  were  ill  with  a  cold 
and  fever^  —  sickening  for  the  small-pox,  I  ventured, 
thinking  to  frighten  her.  But  not  she!  However,  I 
told  her  we  must  and  would  depart  at  once,  and  that 
you  had  sworn  never  to  enter  that  Cave  of  Adullam, 
Monplaisir,  again.  She  is  very  dissatisfied  with  you, 
I  bade  adieu  to  the  Princess.  By  the  high  heavens, 
that  girl  should  be  a  soldier !  What  a  spirit  she  has  ! 
And  I  gave  that  scoundrel  of  a  prince  to  understand 
that  to  mistreat  a  daughter  of  France  was  to  bring 
destruction  on  himseK.  The  fellow  grinned  horribly 
at  my  hint.     And  now  let  us  take  horse." 

Roger  Egremont  felt  almost  happy  when  he  again 
found  his  legs  across  the  back  of  Merrylegs,  That 
faithful  beast  had  profited  by  his  rest,  and  was  as  eager 
to  leave  Orlamunde  as  his  master.  Even  Berwick's  valet 
shook  the  dust  of  Orlamunde  from  his  feet  with  joy. 

299 


The  House  of  Egremont 

When  they  had  passed  out  of  the  town  and  had 
crossed  the  bridge  over  the  laughing  river  they  stopped 
and  looked  back  at  Orlamunde  lying  placid  in  the  spring 
sunshine.  Bare-legged  girls  were  beating  linen  and 
laughing  on  the  banks  of  the  river;  the  old  schloss 
rose  dark  and  threatening,  as  if  terrorizing  the  merry 
little  town.  A  sentry  upon  a  lookout  tower  walked 
his  narrow  beat,  his  cuirass  glistening  afar.  The 
beautiful  roofs  and  pinnacles  of  Monplaisir  shone  above 
the  delicate  green  of  its  gardens  and  parks.  Within 
that  fair  palace  was  Michelle.  Roger  Egreraont's  heart 
was  like  lead  in  his  bosom  when  he  thought  of  her. 
She  was  destined  to  misery,  but,  however  her  heart  might 
be  tortured,  he  felt  sure  her  soul  would  remain  free. 
She  would  walk  like  Una,  unafraid  and  unashamed. 
He  remembered  what  she  had  said  about  not  counting 
on  her  strength  —  that  she  was  no  better  than  he  — 
and  he  inwardly  contradicted  her.  She  was  as  pure 
and  as  unapproachable  as  a  star ;  for  Roger  Egremont 
knew  so  little  of  the  human  heart  that  he  esteemed  the 
highest  form  of  virtue  to  be  that  which  knows  no 
temptation. 


300 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ROGER  EGREMONT  HAS  A  LITTLE  ADVENTURE  IN  A 
GARDEN  AT  NEERWINDEN  AND  BECOMES  A  MAJOR 
IN  THE   FINEST  BRIGADE  IN   THE   WORLD. 

A  WARM  July  night  in  1693  —  a  full  moon  illumi- 
nating a  flat,  wooded  country,  with  cottages  and 
hamlets  flecking  the  meadows,  and  villages  nestling 
upon  the  slight  ascents.  It  is  a  prosperous-seeming 
country  and  well  peopled  at  all  times.  Now  it  is  like 
a  beehive,  with  something  like  eighty  thousand  men 
moving  over  it,  and  sixty  thousand  are  preparing  to  con- 
test their  way,  when  they  shall  have  reached  a  pretty 
spot,  on  the  prettiest  little  river  in  the  Low  Countries 
—  Landen.     It  will  run  with  blood  to-morrow. 

It  is  almost  midnight,  the  hour  when  the  peasants 
usually  are  snoring  hard  after  their  day's  work.  But 
on  this  hot  July  night  no  one  sleeps,  although  the 
windows  of  the  houses  are  kept  dark ;  the  people  do 
not  care  to  reveal  to  the  soldiers  the  nearness  of  a 
house. 

The  movement  is  remarkably  quiet  for  such  vast  num- 
bers of  men.  The  cavalry  have  clanked  and  thundered 
on  ahead;  the  artillery  can  still  be  heard  lumbering 
heavily  in  the  advance,  but  the  roads  are  good,  and 
the  flat  country  makes  few  echoes.  Along  the  high 
road,  march  steadily  many  regiments  of  infantry.  It 
is  easy  marching,  but  they  have  been  at  it  for  long 
hours.     The  soldiers  of  the  French  army  were  allowed 

301 


The  House  of  Egremont 

to  sing  and  joke  —  nay,  even  to  dance  —  on  the  march, 
when  there  was  likely  to  be  fighting  at  the  end  of  it. 
But  the  time  for  this  was  past.  They  could  not  reach 
their  bivouac  before  one  in  the  morning,  at  least,  and 
their  minds  were  on  —  what  think  you  ?  Whether  they 
would  know  the  secrets  of  the  other  world  before  an- 
other moon  should  rise?  Not  at  all.  It  was  how  much 
time  would  they  be  allowed  to  sleep  before  the  beat  of 
the  drum  next  morning,  and  whether  their  share  of 
those  vast  quantities  of  bread  which  had  been  baked 
that  week  would  come  up  in  time. 

Lieutenant-General  the  Duke  of  Berwick,  tired  of 
riding,  had  dismounted  for  a  few  minutes,  and  leading 
his  horse,  walked  by  the  side  of  an  officer,  also  dis- 
mounted and  leading  his  horse.  They  were  among 
friends  and  comrades ;  the  marching  troops  were  that 
celebrated  Irish  Brigade,  which  held  Irish,  English,  and 
Scotch  in  its  ranks,  and  always  gave  its  enemies  trouble 
when  encountered. 

Captain  Roger  Egremont  was  the  other  dismounted 
officer,  and  he  was  saying,  — 

"It  wrings  my  heart  to  think  that  to-morrow  we 
shall  give  many  of  our  own  countrymen  a  mortal 
breakfast." 

"True  enough,  and  I  feel  for  the  humble  soldiers, 
misguided  by  those  who  should  show  them  the  right. 
For  the  officers,  men  who  fight  for  a  usurper,  death 
should  be  their  portion,"  replied  Berwick.  "I  hope 
we  shall  not  be  caught  napping,  as  we  were  at  Stein- 
kerque.  Do  you  know,  it  is  the  fashion  at  Paris  now, 
to  dress  a  la  Steinkerque  —  cravats  hanging  loose,  coats 
half-buttoned,  perukes  awry." 

"I  went  into  that  fight  with  nothing  on  but  my 
breeches  and  shirt.     I  had  a  hat,  but  I  lost  it  in  the 

302 


Roger  has  a  Little  Adventure 

mUee^  and  my  shirt  was  torn  straight  across  the  back, 
and  a  private  soldier  stripped  a  dead  man  of  a  coat  to 
cover  my  nakedness,"  said  Roger  Egremont ;  on  the 
day  of  Steinkerque  he  had  won  his  captaincy. 

Berwick,  who  had  a  voice  in  singing  like  the  croak 
of  a  frog  with  the  quinsy,  began  to  hum  below  his 
breath  Captain  Ogilvie's  song,  — 

"  The  soldier  returns  from  the  wars, 
The  sailor  recrosses  the  sea. 
But  I  —  I  return  no  more,  my  dear, 
I  return  no  more." 

"  I  don't  know  what  brought  that  song  to  mind  — 
I  have  not  thought  of  it  since  we  made  that  famous 
journey  to  Orlamunde,  when  you  sang  it  to  us  some- 
times —  always  prefacing,  '  You  should  have  heard  my 
cousin  Richard  sing.'  I  would  like  to  hear  something 
from  that  unfortunate  Princess." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  that  her  villain  of  a  husband 
was  dead  —  or  that  she  was." 

It  was  the  first  time  Berwick  had  heard  Roger  Egre- 
mont mention  Michelle  since  the  April  morning  that 
they  had  left  Monplaisir  behind  them.  Neither  said 
anything  more  ;  and  presently  Berwick,  remounting, 
rode  off.  Roger  continued  to  trudge  by  the  side  of 
his  men. 

It  was  for  him  as  if  no  more  women  existed  in  the 
world.  He  made  a  firm  resolve,  and  held  to  it  sur- 
prisingly well,  to  think  as  little  on  Michelle  as  possible. 
Any  other  way,  madness  lay.  It  was  as  if  all  his  illu- 
sions had  been  shattered  at  once.  He  saw  himself  as  he 
truly  was,  —  not  a  gentleman  of  fortune,  temporarily 
out  of  his  estate,  but  as  a  gentleman  adventurer,  most 
unlikely  ever  to  have  an  estate.     He  secretly  despaired 

303 


The  House  of  Egremont 

of  the  restoration  of  the  King,  although  keeping  a  bold 
front.  He  went  his  way,  calm,  not  very  smiling,  but 
quite  unruffled  ;  did  his  duty  as  a  soldier,  and  wondered 
why  God  should  treat  him  so  ill.  For  you  will  have 
known  by  this  time  that  Roger  Egremont  was  a  very 
human  man,  and  had  all  the  common  faults  of  humanity. 
One  thing  he  noted  with  sorrow  ;  he  had  grown  indif- 
ferent to  life.  What  mattered  it,  a  few  years  more  or 
or  less?  He  was  reckoned  extraordinarily  brave,  and 
his  coolness  in  danger  was  remarkable  where  all  men 
were  cool  in  danger.  But,  in  truth,  Roger  Egremont 
had  no  special  objection  to  quitting  a  world  where  he 
had  got  more  kicks  than  ha'pence,  so  far. 

He  had  written  several  times  to  Bess  Lukens,  and 
had  got  two  laboriously  written  letters  from  her.  They 
were  fairly  well  spelled,  —  as  well  as  those  written  b}-^ 
some  of  the  ladies  of  the  court,  both  at  St.  Germains 
and  Versailles,  and  had  evidently  been  copied  from  a 
rough  draft.     Bess  was  well  and  happy. 

"Last  Sunday  [she  wrote]  Papa  Mazet  took  me  to  sing 
in  the  apartments  of  Madame  Maintenon,  before  the  French 
King.  The  poor  man  was  near  wild.  [Roger  took  this  to 
refer  to  Papa  Mazet,  and  not  the  French  King.]  The  King 
was  extreame  pleased,  and  said  I  should  hear  his  twenty- 
four  violins  which  played  while  he  ate  his  dinner,  and  I 
did.  There  was  a  French  lady  there  who  also  sang.  She 
screached  mighty  loud,  but  did  not  seem  to  mind  her  notes 
much.  Mr.  Richard  is  now  studying  at  Paris.  He  comes 
to  see  me  on  the  one  day  in  the  month  when  he  is  let  out. 
He  and  I  are  the  best  of  friends.  Papa  Mazet  heard  that  the 
Superior,  as  Mr.  Richard  calls  him,  had  been  axing  about 
my  character,  knowing  that  Mr.  Richard  came  to  see  me. 
I  warrant  you,  Papa  Mazet  sent  the  Superior  a  message 
that  put,  not  a  flea,  but  a  wasp,  in  his  ear.     I  see  the  old 

304 


Roger  has  a  Little  Adventure 

lady,  Madame  Beaumanoir,  a  week  ago,  when  I  went  out 
to  see  Madame  Michot  and  spend  Sunday  with  her.  The 
old  lady  stopped  me  on  the  terrace,  spoke  me  mighty  fair, 
and  said  if  I  ever  wanted  help,  to  come  to  her.  I  thanked 
her,  and  axed  her  about  you,  and  told  her  Mr.  Richard  was 
now  living  in  Paris.  She  praised  him  monstrous  high,  but 
no  more  than  he  deserved,  even  if  he  is  going  to  be  a  popish 
priest  and  talk  Latin  all  the  time,  as  I  hear  the  popishers 
mostly  do.  They  say  the  old  lady  did  not  stay  at  Orlamunde 
a  whole  month,  and  when  she  got  back  her  friends  had  been 
near  driven  to  chain  her  up,  to  keep  her  from  going  to 
Marly-le-Roi  and  telling  King  Louis  a  bushel  of  things  he 
did  not  want  to  know.  Pray  let  me  hear  good  news  from 
you,  my  dear,  kind  Mr.  Roger.  From  your  faithful,  loving 
friend,  Bess  Lukens. 

N.  B.  —  T  write  my  name  in  general  like  you  showed 
me  —  Elisa  Luccheni." 

Roger  had  letters  from  Dicky  as  often  as  there  was 
a  good  opportunity  from  Paris.  Dicky  told  him  the 
news  from  England  and  from  St.  Germains  :  — 

''I  go  to  see  that  honest  creature,  Bess  Lukens,  when  I 
can.  She  sings  to  my  violin,  and  we  talk  about  what  we 
shall  do  when  we  go  back  to  England ;  not  that  I  think  she 
yearns  to  go  as  much  as  the  rest  of  us.  She  says  she  has 
no  one  she  cares  about  in  England." 

And  then  Dicky  told  him  the  same  story  about 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  return. 

Roger  Egremont  was  indulging  himself  in  thinking  of 
these  things  as  he  tramped  along,  still  leading  his  tired 
horse.  Mile  after  mile  was  passed  ;  before  him  an  end- 
less black  line  of  marching  men,  an  endless  black  line 
behind  him.  As  the  clock  tolled  one  in  a  village  steeple 
the  order  to  halt  came.  The  bivouac  was  in  open  field, 
20  305 


The  House  of  Egremont 

and  in  half  an  hour  the  men  had  eaten  such  provision 
as  was  made  for  them,  and  rolled  in  their  blankets 
were  sleeping  soundly.  So  slept  Roger  Egremont.  One 
of  the  compensations  of  the  soldier's  life  was  that  he 
could  always  eat  soldier's  fare  with  a  relish,  and  slept 
like  an  infant.  He  remembered  those  sleepless  nights 
in  Newgate,  and  was  thankful  he  was  spared  that  horror. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  was  up  and  shav- 
ing —  for  he  had  privately  promised  himself  never  to  be 
caught  again  as  at  Steinkerque  —  and  he  put  a  fresh  white 
cockade  in  his  hat.  At  half-past  four,  when  the  men 
were  munching  their  breakfasts,  and  the  soft,  sweet 
dawn  of  a  July  morning  overspread  the  land,  Roger 
caught  sight  of  a  brilliant  group  of  general  officers 
riding  along  that  silvery  brook  of  Landen,  which  was 
to  be  of  a  dreadful  color  before  night.  He  recognized 
the  commanding-general,  —  that  gay,  ugly,  dissolute, 
brave  old  Mar^chal  de  Luxembourg,  —  who  sent  so 
many  standards  to  Paris  that  he  was  called  "  h  tapissier 
de  Notre  Dame  ; "  who,  when  he  heard  that  William  of 
Orange  had  spoken  of  him  coarsely,  as  *'  that  old  hunch- 
back," retorted  by  saying,  "  What  does  he  know  about 
it  ?  he  never  saw  my  back  ;  "  and  who  ended  his  merry 
old  life  so  piously  and  composedly  that  the  stern  and 
scrupulous  Pere  Bourdaloue  said :  "  I  should  not  wish 
to  live  like  the  Marechal  de  Luxembourg,  but  I  should 
wish  to  die  like  him." 

And  then  the  sound  of  fife  and  drum  and  bugle  rent 
the  blue  air ;  great  bodies  of  men  assumed  form  and 
shape  and  motion,  and  the  Irish  brigade,  led  by  Lieu- 
tenant-General  the  Duke  of  Berwick,  plunged  into  the 
crystal  stream,  and  rushed  over  woods  and  fields  and 
briery  thickets,  toward  the  village  of  Neerwinden, — 
rushed,  as  they  ever  did,  to  glory  or  the  grave. 

306 


Roger  has  a  Little  Adventure 

The  Irish  brigade  wore  red  coats,  by  order  of  their 
King,  James  Stuart,  and  they  longed  to  be  at  arm's-length 
with  other  grim  red-coats,  who  filled  the  trenches  that 
encompassed  the  village,  swarmed  in  the  houses  and 
gardens,  and  whose  cannon  bristled  on  every  coign  of 
vantage.  These  red-coats  owned  William  of  Orange  for 
their  King.  They  had  Germans,  many  thousands  of 
them,  on  their  side ;  but  the  men  of  the  Irish  brigade 
counted  themselves  cheated  and  swindled  and  chicaned 
when  they  had  only  to  ifight  the  Germans  and  the  Dutch. 
And  there  were  Frenchmen  fighting  in  line  with  the 
Irish  brigade.  But  those  Whig  red-coats  reckoned  not 
with  them  ;  they  were  not  the  Irish  brigade.  So  those 
fellow-countrymen  rushed  together  with  the  greatest 
longing,  saying  in  their  hearts,  "  My  brother,  how  art 
thou  ? "  and  then  stabbing  that  brother  if  the  brother 
did  not  succeed  in  stabbing  first. 

On  one  side  of  these  eager  men  who  followed  Berwick 
as  he  showed  them  the  way  toward  their  enemies,  was 
the  brigade  of  Rubantel,  on  the  other  that  of  Mont- 
chevreuil,  —  French,  both,  —  but  the  centre  brigade  never 
saw  them  after  the  brook  was  crossed.  Up  the  wooded 
incline  rushed  the  Irish  brigade  and  the  foot -guards ; 
through  brake  and  thicket  they  dashed,  the  tall  figure 
of  the  Duke  of  Berwick  on  his  powerful  bay  charger 
ever  in  the  van.  On  they  plunge  to  Neerwinden,  but 
in  their  impetuous  charge  they  have  far  outstripped 
their  supports  on  the  right  and  the  left.  Roger  Egre- 
mont,  on  foot,  at  the  head  of  his  company,  tumbling  out 
a  squad  of  gunners  from  a  trench,  turned  to  see  a 
blazing  line  of  red-coats  falling  upon  the  Irish  brigade 
on  all  sides.  Rubantel  and  Montchevreuil  are  not  in 
sight,  but  a  thunder  of  guns,  and  a  ceaseless  rattle  and 
crash  of  musketry,  off  amid  the  woods  and  ravines  that 

307 


The  House  of  Egremont 

lie  between  the  river  and  the  village,  show  where  they 
are.  They  have  been  stopped  for  a  time  by  great  masses 
of  English,  Dutch,  and  Germans,  —  horse,  foot,  and  ar- 
tillery, —  but  are  holding  their  own  so  stubbornly  that 
Dutch  William  says,  between  his  clenched  teeth,  — 

"  This  insolent  nation  !  " 

And  that  merry  old  hunchbacked  warrior,  the  Mar^chal 
de  Luxembourg,  who  has  always  beaten  William  of 
Orange  whenever  they  have  been  matched,  sits  perched 
on  his  horse,  watching  the  struggle  from  a  hill,  and 
holding  in  his  hand  ten  regiments  of  horse  ready  to 
support  "  the  insolent  nation  "  when  they  really  want  it. 

But  meanwhile  the  English  are  closing  in  upon  Ber- 
wick's incomparable  brigade.  Roger  sees,  just  before 
him,  a  little  walled-in  garden  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
village,  with  a  stout  oaken  door  at  the  back.  He  re- 
forms his  men,  and  making  a  rush  for  the  garden,  a 
soldier  climbs  nimbly  over  the  wall,  unbars  the  gate, 
and  Roger  and  his  men  scamper  in,  just  in  time  to  lock 
and  bar  the  gate  behind  them.  The  wall  is  high  and 
spiked,  and  opposite  the  oaken  door  is  an  open  iron- 
work gate  looking  on  to  the  street,  where  can  be  seen 
men  fighting  furiously,  English  and  French  in  confu- 
sion, riderless  horses  plunging,  and  no  one  clearly  un- 
derstanding what  has  happened,  or  what  he  has  to  do, 
only  to  fight,  to  fight,  to  fight. 

Roger  Egremont,  wiping  the  blood  from  his  sword, 
glances  about  him,  prepared  to  defend  himself  at  the 
first  assault  made  upon  him,  which  will  be  in  half  a 
minute.  The  iron  gate  is  secured  like  the  oaken  door, 
and  sharpshooters  are  posted  there,  with  their  muskets 
carefully  adjusted  at  the  openings  in  the  grille.  But 
every  man  in  the  company  of  Egremont  is  a  sharp- 
shooter for  that  time.     And  in  the  middle  of  the  mossy 

308 


Roger  has  a  Little  Adventure 

garden  is  a  charming  little  summer-house,  covered  with 
rich  red  roses  in  full  bloom.  They  will  be  redder  next 
year,  for  they  will  be  watered  with  blood. 

"  My  lads,"  cries  Roger,  "  we  are  safe  as  in  a  fortress 
here ;  we  may  sit  down  and  laugh,  for  all  the  harm  those 
rascal  Whigs  can  do  us.  See,  we  have  a  summer-house 
to  lie  down  and  rest  ourselves  in  when  we  get  tired 
of  picking  'em  off  through  the  gate  and  over  the  top 
of  the  wall.  See,  yonder  high  house,  without  a  loop- 
hole in  the  wall,  protects  us  on  that  side.  We  sha'n't 
see  any  more  fun  to-day,  I  am  fearing;"  of  which 
speech  part  was  true  and  part  was  a  lie,  —  they  being 
in  very  imminent  danger  every  moment.  Nevertheless, 
the  men,  some  of  whom  were  from  Devonshire,  huzzaed 
loudly. 

The  huzza  was  interrupted  by  a  yell  from  the  outside, 
and  the  long  rolling  of  the  English  drums.  A  torrent 
of  red-coats  poured  into  the  narrow  street,  moving 
steadily  forward  like  fate.  Roger  at  the  same  moment 
saw  Berwick,  on  his  great  bay  horse,  appear  as  if  out 
of  the  ground,  and  at  the  same  moment  with  a  shout 
the  English  soldiers  recognized  him.  Roger  saw  him 
tear  the  white  cockade  from  his  hat,  dig  the  spurs  into 
his  horse,  and  leaping  a  low  wall  in  his  path,  make  off 
at  full  speed. 

"  He  is  safe,  at  all  events,"  cried  Roger.  This,  too, 
was  a  lie,  for  he  caught  a  perfect  view  of  Berwick,  as 
dashing  on,  he  rode  straight  into  the  arms  of  his  uncle. 
Brigadier  Churchill,  was  unhorsed,  tall  man  and  tall 
horse  going  down  together,  and  when  they  rose,  Ber- 
wick was  winded  and  staggering,  and  the  uncle  held 
the  nephew  by  the  collar  —  all  of  which  Roger  saw. 

Meanwhile,  the  red-coats  in  the  garden  have  their 
hands  full.     They  are  plainly  seen  through  the  grille, 

309 


The  House  of  Egremont 

and  the  English  foot-soldiers  try  every  means  to  dis- 
lodge them.  The  Whigs  try  climbing  the  wall  —  their 
opponents  within  the  garden  shouting  to  them  men- 
acingly, — 

"  Come  on,  ye  toads,  and  have  at  ye !  " 

And  then  pitching  the  wounded  back  to  be  trampled 
upon  by  others,  the  red-coats  rush  at  the  iron  gate  and 
try  to  tear  it  down ;  but  they  only  leave  a  rampart  of 
their  bodies  still  further  to  protect  those  inside.  The 
battle  rages  all  around  them,  —  in  the  village,  in  the 
fields  behind,  in  the  plain  beyond,  —  but  the  company 
of  Egremont  is  besieged  in  the  walled  garden.  There 
is  no  artillery  at  hand  to  dislodge  them ;  it  is  man  to 
man,  fusil  to  fusil,  countryman  to  countryman,  the 
scarlet  coat  to  the  scarlet  coat.  It  is  hard  work,  but 
the  men  complain  of  nothing  but  want  of  drink. 

"Never  mind,  my  lads,"  says  Roger,  smiling,  "the 
other  fellows  are  as  thirsty  as  we,  and  they  are  not  so 
comfortable  as  we,  safe  in  a  pleasant  garden  on  this 
broiling  day,  with  a  cool  summer-house  to  rest  in  when 
we  are  tired ;  nor  as  easy  in  their  minds,  for  we  live  or 
die  as  becomes  honest  men." 

Hours  pass,  the  roar  of  battle  never  ceasing,  and 
the  steady  thunder  of  eighty  great  guns  concentrated 
upon  the  French  centre  knowing  no  pause  or  rest. 
The  company  of  Egremont  had  been  holding  its  own 
since  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  tide  has 
surged  back  and  forth,  but  never  has  it  receded  far 
enough  to  let  them  escape,  or  advanced  near  enough 
to  overwhelm  them.  Some  poor  fellows  lie  stark  on 
the  mossy  ground ;  a  dozen  wounded  men  are  stretched 
in  the  little  summer-house,  —  they  want  nothing  but 
victory  and  water. 

Roger  Egremont,  with  a  great  gash  over  his  forehead, 

310 


Roger  has  a  Little  Adventure 

his  head  tied  up  in  a  handkerchief,  with  his  white 
cockade  pinned  to  it,  has  borrowed  a  fusil  from  a 
soldier  and  is  taking  a  shot  through  the  iron  gate  at  the 
men  struggling  in  the  village  street.  His  red  coat  is 
torn  open,  —  it  is  cruelly  hot,  and  he  has  worked  hard 
since  daylight,  —  and  his  white  shirt  has  some  blood- 
stains on  it.  Opposite  is  a  tall  stone  house  for  which 
both  sides  have  fought  desperately,  the  French  being  in 
possession.  Suddenly,  through  the  uproar  comes  the 
sharp  blare  of  a  fife  playing  "  Les  Folies  en  Espagne." 

"  That 's  a  French  tune,  my  lads,"  shouts  Roger ; 
and  then  comes  a  rush  of  white  cockades  and  the 
splendid  uniforms,  now  bedraggled,  of  the  household 
troops  of  Louis  le  Grand ;  and  presently  that  frightful 
thunder  of  the  English,  Dutch,  and  German  batteries 
which  had  never  ceased  its  dreadful  clangor  since  noon, 
began  to  falter,  and  when  at  last  the  iron  gate  was 
opened  and  the  company  of  Egremont  marched  out 
in  good  order  with  their  bayonets  screwed  into  their 
muskets,  and  found  the  other  scarlet  coats  retreating 
grimly,  and  in  a  manner  not  to  be  hurried,  the  field 
of  Neerwinden  was  won.  The  Marc^chal  de  Luxembourg 
had  seen  the  back  of  William  of  Orange  that  day,  but 
had  not  shown  his  own. 

Terrible  were  the  losses  of  the  Irish  brigade,  and 
Berwick  was  a  prisoner.  It  was  known  that  after  the 
battle  he  had  marched  with  the  English  foot  as  far  as 
Sichen,  being  treated  with  great  affection  by  his  uncle, 
the  Brigadier  Churchill,  who  declared  to  him  that  his 
other  uncle,  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  took  much  pride 
in  so  promising  a  nephew.  Nor  were  the  Whig  red- 
coats a  whit  behind  in  respect  for  so  gallant  an  enemy. 
Nevertheless,  as  soon  as  he  fell  into  the  hands  of  his 
half  sister's  husband,  William  of  Orange,  it  was  given 

311 


The  House  of  Egremont 

out  that  he  was  to  be  shut  up  in  the  Tower  of  London, 
and  tried  as  a  prisoner  of  state,  instead  of  being  paroled 
as  a  prisoner  of  war — and  that  meant  a  trip  to 
Tyburn,  with  the  block  and  the  headsman  awaiting 
him.  The  news  was  very  disquieting  to  the  whole 
French  nation,  and  infuriating  to  the  great  brigade 
which  felt  itself  honored  in  having  had  him  for  a  com- 
mander. The  Mar^chal  de  Luxembourg,  however,  bade 
everybody  to  be  easy  about  Lieutenant-General  the  Duke 
of  Berwick.  The  Mar^chal  held  the  winning  card. 
Among  the  prisoners  taken  by  him  was  the  Duke  of 
Ormond.  Whatever  befell  one  Duke  should  befall  the 
other.  This  intimation,  when  conveyed  in  due  time  to 
William  of  Orange,  acted  like  a  charm.  Berwick  was 
paroled  within  a  week. 

It  was  now  August.  The  Mar^chal  de  Luxembourg 
had  fixed  his  headquarters  at  the  gay  little  town  of 
Nivelle,  which  was  the  gayer  for  that  reason,  and  at 
Nivelle  Berwick  reported  himself. 

On  the  evening  of  his  arrival  he  sought  out  Roger 
Egremont.  Roger  was  found,  sitting  in  his  tent,  study- 
ing maps  by  the  light  of  a  candle  stuck  in  a  bottle.  He 
was  delighted  to  see  Berwick  again. 

"  I  had  meant  to  go  to  see  you  as  soon  as  the  high 
mightinesses  were  disposed  of,"  cried  Roger,  as  they 
gripped  each  other's  hands. 

"  I  have  seen  other  high  mightinesses,"  said  Berwick. 
"I  have  seen  my  half-sister's  husband,  the  Prince  of 
Orange.  I  will  say  of  him  that  although  I  shall  have 
no  cause  to  bless  his  memory,  I  cannot  deny  him  the 
faculties  of  a  great  man,  nor,  if  he  were  not  a  usurper, 
of  a  great  king.  Our  encounter  after  Neerwinden 
was  not  unlike  the  one  you  had  at  Egremont.  The 
Prince,  when  I  was  presented  to  him,  paid  me  a  long 

312 


Roger  has  a  Little  Adventure 

compliment.  This  I  returned  by  a  low  bow.  He  then 
regarded  me  steadfastly  for  a  space.  I  looked  him  in 
the  eye.  He  put  on  his  hat.  I  put  on  mine.  The 
interview  ended." 

Roger  laughed  very  heartily  at  this  —  he  still  had 
some  laughter  left  in  him.  It  is  only  your  mean- 
spirited  rascal  who  cannot  laugh.  God  leaves  laughter 
and  tears  as  a  solace  to  the  honest  people. 

War,  in  those  days,  was  full  of  gallantry,  and  the 
gay  old  Mardchal  de  Luxembourg  was  never  without 
the  presence  of  ladies  at  his  headquarters,  except  when 
he  was  actually  burning  powder ;  and  the  ladies  of  the 
neighboring  towns  and  chateaux  had  reason  to  remem- 
ber the  merry  old  gentleman  gratefully.  While  he  was 
doing  all  he  could  to  send  their  husbands,  fathers,  and 
brothers  into  another  world,  he  was  eager  to  make  this 
one  pleasant  to  these  fair  ones.  Some  stem  moral- 
ists, Berwick  among  them,  rather  complained  of  the 
Mar^chal's  habit  of  turning  his  camp  into  a  resort  for  the 
ladies. 

Nivelle,  during  those  August  days,  was  certainly  gay 
enough.  Roger  Egremont  heard  much  of  it,  and  saw 
many  pretty  women  fluttering  about,  in  coaches,  on 
horseback,  on  pillions ;  but  women  no  longer  interested 
him.  He  had  begun  to  study  very  seriously  the  great 
game  of  war,  and  had  little  thought  for  anything  else. 
He  did  not  even  read  as  ravenously  as  he  once  had 
done,  and  one  night,  passing  an  abandoned  campfire, 
he  threw  into  it  his  little  volume  of  Ronsard's  poems. 
He  did  it  deliberately;  he  had  tried  once  or  twice 
before  to  burn  the  little  book  up,  but  his  resolution 
had  failed  him  at  the  last  moment.  The  book,  however, 
nestling  close  to  his  breast,  spoke  always  of  Michelle ; 
it  called  her  name  softly  to  him,  in  the  quiet  moments 

313 


The  House  of  Egremont 

before  he  was  sinking  to  sleep,  and  made  him  dream 
of  her.  It  talked  to  him  of  her  as  he  went  his  way 
those  summer  days,  in  the  pleasant  Low  Country,  and 
as  it  would  not  be  silenced  he  burned  it  up. 

The  fighting  was  over  for  the  season  in  September. 
Armies  in  those  days  days  killed  many  men,  —  nearly 
twelve  thousand  dead  men  marked  the  day  of  Neer- 
winden,  —  and  they  could  not  keep  this  up  the  year 
round.  In  the  winter  most  of  the  officers  took  turns 
in  getting  leave  to  visit  Paris.  Not  so  Roger  Egre- 
mont. He  was  in  a  condition  generally  esteemed  happy, 
—  the  place  where  he  was,  was  the  place  where  he  most 
desired  to  be. 

In  the  spring  of  1694,  more  fighting ;  in  the  summer, 
more  fighting  still,  —  in  Flanders,  in  Italy,  on  the  Rhine, 
on  the  coasts  of  France,  —  everywhere  arms  resounded. 
In  the  winter  all  was  peace,  and  the  gallants  fled  to 
Paris.  This  year  of  1694,  Roger  Egremont,  conscious 
that  he  was  growing  to  be  a  mere  campaigner,  that  books 
and  women,  to  whom  every  gentleman  should  be  de- 
voted, had  lost  their  charm  for  him,  determined  to  go 
to  St.  Germains  for  a  while.  He  longed  to  see  Dicky. 
He  was  willing  to  see  Bess  Lukens,  whom  he  truly  be- 
lieved to  be  his  best  friend,  but  he  was  just  as  happy 
without  seeing  her.  Bess  felt  something  for  him  which 
he  could  not  return.  Roger  Egremont,  however,  would 
not  admit  this  openly,  even  to  himself,  being  of  a 
chivalrous  nature,  but  he  showed  his  instinctive  knowl- 
edge of  it  by  a  certain  discomfort  he  always  felt  in 
Bess's  presence. 

He  arrived  at  St.  Germains  in  December,  and  remained 
a  month.  He  went  straight  toward  his  old  lodging  at 
the  inn  of  Michot,  and  as  he  passed  through  the  orchard, 
coming  to  it  from  the  river  way,  on  a  pleasant  winter 

314 


Roger  has  a  Little  Adventure 

day,  who  should  come  running  toward  him  but  Bess 
Lukens !  He  had  not  seen  her  for  two  years,  and  was 
forced  to  see  that  she  had  improved  in  certain  ways. 
There  could  be  no  improvement  in  her  beauty  or  dress. 
She  had  ever  a  natural  taste  to  set  off  her  looks  to  the 
best  advantage.  However  she  had  gained  propriety  of 
manner ;  she  was  more  like  a  lady.  But,  alas  !  nothing 
could  make  Bess  Lukens  a  lady.  She  was  as  unaffect- 
edly glad  to  see  Roger  as  ever,  and  the  joy  that  sent 
the  blood  into  her  clear  skin  and  filled  her  red-brown 
eyes  with  rapture  was  the  same.  Her  voice,  however, 
was  softened,  her  manner  gentler. 

When  she  ran  toward  him  under  the  bare  trees  of 
the  orchard,  he  would  have  been  quite  justified,  by  the 
manners  of  the  day,  in  giving  this  handsome  lass  a 
rousing  smack  on  the  cheek.  Instead,  he  kissed  her 
hand  as  if  she  had  been  a  court  lady,  which  ought  to 
have  pleased  Bess,  but  did  not. 

"  And  I  need  not  ask  you  how  you  are,  dear  Bess.  I 
see  for  myself  happiness  and  prosperity  writ  in  your 
face,"  he  said  to  her  warmly. 

"  I  have  prospered  truly,"  replied  Bess,  "  and  I  have 
come  to  St.  Germains  now  to  sing  in  the  chapel  for  the 
good  Queen.  Whenever  I  have  the  honor  to  sing  be- 
fore any  great  French  people,  I  come  out  to  St.  Ger- 
mains and  take  my  place  in  the  chapel  choir,  to  sing 
for  my  own  King  and  Queen ;  and  I  tell  you,  as  should 
not,  Roger,  that  the  singers  all  leave  me  the  solo  parts. 
But  you  are  changed  —  and  yet  —  " 

"  Improved  ?  "  asked  Roger,  smiling. 

"  No ;  I  cannot  think  anything  an  improvement  on 
the  first  friend  I  ever  had,  —  the  first  gentleman  who 
ever  spoke  a  decent  word  to  me.  You  have  become  a 
soldier,  though." 

315 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"  Yes ;  I  am  now  Major  Egremont.  One  or  two  more 
campaigns,  and  I  shall  be  a  lieutenant-colonel." 

"And  have  you  seen  Mr.  Dicky? " 

"  Not  yet.  I  am  but  just  come.  I  slept  last  night  at 
Verneuil." 

"  You  should  see  him  —  a  personable  lad.  And  why 
should  I  call  him  a  lad  ?  he  is  every  day  of  three-and- 
twenty,  and  will  soon  be  ordained  a  popish  priest.  He 
has  it  in  his  head  to  go  back  to  England,  and  you  ought 
to  dissuade  him ;  indeed  you  should,  Roger,  because  you 
know  that  means  death." 

"  Not  I,  Bess.  My  cousin  Dicky  is  a  man,  and  to 
dissuade  a  man  from  his  duty  because  he  may  have  to 
die  for  it,  is  no  way  of  mine." 

Bess  remained  silent — she  had  no  true  idea  of  noblesse 
oblige.  Poor  Bess  was  not  a  lady,  —  the  blood  of  the 
Lukens  family  did  not  run  in  the  channels  of  the  Egre- 
monts.     She  thought  Roger  a  little  hard-hearted. 

"  Anyway,"  she  cried  aggressively,  "  he  is  far  too  good 
for  a  popish  priest,  and  a  great  deal  too  handsome." 

"Take  care,  my  dear,"  responded  Roger,  laughing, 
"  I  may  yet  be  a  popish  priest  myself.  Remember  Mon- 
sieur La  Trappe,  who  was  a  soldier." 

"  There 's  no  danger  for  you^''''  coolly  said  Bess. 
And  then  they  were  at  the  inn  door,  and  Madame 
Michot  came  forth,  bustling,  to  meet  them ;  and  lame 
Jacques,  who  admired  Bess  as  a  star  far  above  him, 
limped  forward,  and  they  were  all  very  glad  to  see 
each  other  once  more. 

Madame  Michot  could  give  Roger  his  old  garret  for 
a  month.  As  for  the  inn  itself,  it  was  like  its  old  self 
only  in  the  winter,  when  some  of  the  former  patrons 
came  back.  Some  of  them  would  never  come  back, 
but  slept  in  Flemish  ground,  or  their  bones  were  bleach- 

316 


Roger  has  a  Little  Adventure 

ing  in  the  passes  of  the  Spanish  mountains,  or  they 
whitened  the  plains  of  Italy,  or  they  took  their  rest  on 
the  banks  of  the  Rhine. 

The  common  room,  however,  was  decently  full  that 
evening  when  Roger  ordered  his  supper.  Many  of 
those  present  he  had  served  with.  They  had  talk  of 
campaigns,  past  and  future,  good  news  from  England, 
where  the  recent  death  of  Mary  of  Orange  had  seriously 
weakened  her  husband's  position.  The  Duke  of  Berwick 
was  at  St.  Germains  for  the  winter,  where  it  was  re- 
ported that  he  sought  favor  in  the  lovely  eyes  of  Honora 
de  Burgh,  widow  of  the  brave  Sarsfield,  killed  at  Neer- 
winden,  and  daughter  of  Lord  Clanricarde.  He  was  in 
high  favor  at  Marly-le-Roi,  and  was  one  of  the  twenty 
great  nobles  whom  the  Dauphin  invited  to  Choisy  to 
plant  trees,  to  hunt,  and  to  enjoy  life  as  great  nobles 
should.  The  little  Prince  of  Wales  charmed  every- 
body. "When  he  met  a  private  soldier,  he  always  pulled 
out  his  little  purse  and  gave  what  he  had  in  it,  "  to 
drink  the  health  of  the  King,  my  father.*'  And  the 
little  Princess  Louisa,  "  La  Consolatrice,"  as  her  fond 
father  called  her,  was  then  nearly  three  years  old,  and 
was  an  angel.  William  and  Mary  had  no  children  ;  all 
of  the  Princess  Anne's  were  dead  or  dying,  so  the  exiles 
told  each  other,  believing  the  hand  of  God  to  be  upon 
Goneril  and  Regan,  while  the  Queen  whom  those  daugh- 
ters had  displaced  had  two  beautiful  infants,  so  lovely 
that  the  greatest  queen  and  empress  in  the  world  might 
envy  her  those  cherubs.  This  was  the  talk  Roger  Egre- 
mont  heard  that  night  in  the  common  room,  —  most  of 
it  highly  agreeable  to  him.  After  the  usual  nightcap 
of  punch  and  the  King's  health  had  been  drunk,  and 
the  house  was  quiet  for  the  night,  Roger  looked  out  of 
the  window  he  knew  so  well,  down  upon  that  familiar 

317 


The  House  of  Egremont 

scene.  A  bright  December  moon  illuminated  the  glori- 
ous terrace,  the  black  pile  of  the  old  chateau,  the  river 
flowing  icy  cold  through  the  wintry  meadows.  It  was 
all  very  sad  to  him,  —  the  place  was  haunted.  He 
wished  he  had  remained  at  winter  quartei*s  in  Brabant. 

Next  day  was  Sunday,  and  he  went  to  mass  in  the 
chapel.  He  saw  the  King,  broken  and  aged,  but  a  King 
still,  enter ;  the  Queen,  a  queen  always ;  and  the  two 
tiny  children,  the  little  Prince  of  Wales  gravely  lead- 
ing "  La  Consolatrice "  by  the  hand.  Roger's  heart 
swelled  when  he  saw  these  two  infants  —  they  were  so 
beautiful. 

The  organ  pealed  out,  and  voices  rose  in  the  anthem. 
Roger  tried  to  keep  his  mind  fixed  on  holy  things, 
but  he  easily  distinguished,  above  the  golden  tones  of 
the  organ  and  the  melody  of  the  other  voices,  Bess 
Lukens's  glorious  soprano.  It  was  one  of  those  rich 
and  radiant  voices,  full  of  color  and  religious  passion. 
One  knew  that  the  singer  was  young  and  glowing  with 
life  and  fire.  Roger  glanced  upward  at  her.  She  was 
standing  up  to  sing,  her  hood  and  mantle  thrown  back. 
He  saw  in  her  face  that  great  and  beautiful  change 
which  was  taking  place  in  her.  She  was  singing,  "  I 
have  loved  righteousness  and  hated  iniquity."  It  was 
true ;  and  because  she  had  honestly  hated  iniquity  she 
had  passed  through  it  unscathed,  and  had  come  from  the 
continual  sight  of  it  in  a  common  gaol,  to  a  life  of  inno- 
cence and  peace,  among  honest  people  like  herself. 

After  mass,  Roger  attended  the  King's  levee.  It  was 
very  full,  for  the  chances  of  James's  restoration  seemed 
brilliant.  The  little  town  was  crowded,  and  what  gave 
great  joy  to  Roger  Egremont  was  that  they  were  chiefly 
new  faces,  —  persons  who  thought  they  saw  the  rising, 
once  more,  of  the  Jacobite  star.     Already  human  na- 

318 


Roger  has  a  Little  Adventure 

ture  was  asserting  itself  at  St.  Germains  in  quarrels  over 
the  coming  flesh-pots.  Lord  Middleton  led  a  party 
called  the  Compounders,  who  wanted  a  general  am- 
nesty; while  Lord  Melfort  led  the  non-Compounders, 
who  proposed  to  distribute  punishments  as  well  as  re- 
wards. The  King,  with  whom  Mary  of  Orange  had 
once  been  a  favorite  child,  whose  impenitent  death  dis- 
tressed him  greatly,  yet  sternly  refused  to  have  his 
shabby  court  wear  mourning  for  her,  or  to  take  any 
outward  notice  of  the  death  of  this  despoiler  of  her 
father  and  brother.  The  King,  however,  prayed  long 
and  often  for  the  soul  of  his  undutiful  child. 

The  chateau,  like  all  the  rest  of  St.  Germains,  was 
haunted  to  Roger  Egremont.  He  sincerely  hoped  he 
should  not  meet  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  that  day,  and 
looked  about  him  anxiously  on  entering  the  grand  saloon. 
To  his  relief,  she  was  not  there. 

In  his  turn,  he  made  his  obeisance  to  the  King  and 
Queen,  sitting,  not  in  state,  but  as  the  father  and 
mother  of  a  large  family.  The  King  greeted  him 
kindly. 

"  I  hear  you  have  earned  promotion,  Mr.  Egremont." 

"•  Thanks,  your  Majesty,  to  the  good  offices  of  the 
Duke  of  Berwick,  who  sees  to  it  that  no  man,  however 
humble,  goes  without  his  reward,"  replied  Roger.  The 
ablest  courtier  in  the  world  could  not  have  turned 
a  speech  better  to  please  the  King's  ear,  or  the  Queen's 
either  for  that  matter,  as  she  looked  chiefly  to  the  half- 
brother  of  her  child,  for  that  child's  restoration  to  his 
father's  throne. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  privately  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, that  I  may  know  particularly  of  all  my  former 
gentlemen-at-arms,"  said  the  poor  King. 

Then  the  queen  spoke  —  her  sweet  and  thrilling 
319 


The  House  of  Egremont 

voice,  with  her  beautiful  black  eyes,  being  her  great 
charm.  "  The  Duke  of  Berwick  has  told  us  much  of 
you,  Mr.  Egremont.  I  hope  that  you  will  never  go  so 
far  away  from  us  that  we  cannot  get  you  on  short 
notice." 

"  I  hope  so,  too,  your  Majesty  ;  and  when  your  Maj- 
esties are  returned  to  England,  no  one  will  be  a  more 
assiduous  courtier  than  myself." 

Then  the  little  Prince  of  Wales,  walking  up  fear- 
lessly, without  asking  permission  of  his  governor.  Lord 
Middleton,  twisted  his  little  hand  in  Roger's  sword- 
belt,  and  said,  "  I  know  your  name.  It  is  Roger  Eg- 
remont, for  the  Duke  of  Berwick  told  me  a  story  about 
your  fighting  for  the  King,  my  father,  in  a  garden. 
Tell  me  all  about  it  now." 

"If  your  Royal  Highness's  governor  will  permit," 
replied  Roger,  gravely;  and  Lord  Middleton  nodding 
his  head,  the  little  fellow  led  Roger  off  to  a  window- 
seat,  and  planting  himself  between  his  new  friend's 
knees,  asked  all  about  the  battle  of  Neerwinden,  and 
showed  so  much  intelligence  for  a  little  lad  that  Roger 
was  charmed. 

When  the  levee  was  dismissed  and  Roger  was  rising 
to  go,  there  passed  before  him  a  vision  of  delicate  loveli- 
ness which  waked  him  for  a  moment  from  that  indiffer- 
ence to  women  which  had  long  possessed  him.  It  was 
Honora  de  Burgh,  her  widow's  robe  showing  off  her 
pure  complexion,  her  eyes  so  wonderfully  bright  and 
clear ;  they  reminded  him  of  another  pair  of  eyes  he  had 
often  seen  at  St.  Germains,  and  never  without  a  thrill. 
Some  one  whispered  the  name  of  the  Irish  beauty,  and 
Roger  knew  it  was  the  woman  that  Berwick  was  said 
to  admire  so  profoundly.  Roger  looked  at  her  more 
attentively  still.     He  noticed  that  she  seemed  but  a 

320 


Roger  has  a  Little  Adventure 

frail  flower,  —  the  color  on  her  cheek,  the  light  in  her 
eyes  was  too  vivid ;  the  painful  thought  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  him  that  she  was  not  destined  to  outlive  her 
youth.     Sad,  sad,  prescience ! 

The  town  was  so  full  of  English,  Irish,  and  Scotch 
that  Roger  could  not  pass  along  the  narrow  streets 
without  running  into  his  own  country  people.  All 
were  sanguine  of  being  in  their  native  land  within 
three  months.  William  of  Orange  had  not  been  a  kind 
or  a  faithful  husband,  but  yet  he  grieved  much  at  the 
death  of  his  wife,  and  his  health  was  said  to  be  breaking. 
He  was  credited  at  St.  Germains  with  having  twenty 
different  diseases,  each  certain  of  a  fatal  ending  in  a 
short  space  of  time  —  the  wish  being  father  to  the 
thought. 

Roger,  after  meeting  and  greeting  many  acquaint- 
ances and  friends,  returned  to  the  inn.  He  much  de- 
sired to  see  Dicky,  and  also  Berwick.  Judging  from 
what  he  had  heard  concerning  Sarsfield's  beautiful 
young  widow,  he  had  but  little  doubt  that  St.  Ger- 
mains was  the  place  to  seek  Berwick,  and  not  all  the 
blandishments  of  the  French  King  and  Monseigneur 
combined  could  keep  him  long  away.  But  Dicky  must 
be  sought  in  Paris.  Bess  Lukens,  he  found,  was  to 
return  that  afternoon,  and  so  he  determined  to  go  in 
the  stage-coach  with  her,  —  a  huge,  rumbling  vehicle 
which  ran  daily  at  that  time  between  St.  Germains  and 
Paris. 

At  five  o'clock  they  were  to  start.  It  was  a  dull 
winter  afternoon,  and  the  journey  promised  to  be  cold 
and  disagreeable.  But  Roger  was  glad  to  get  away 
from  St.  Germains,  and  delighted  at  the  prospect  of 
seeing  Dicky.  He  walked  with  Bess  to  the  street 
corner  where  they  were  to  meet  the  stage.  He  noticed, 
21  321 


The  House  of  Egremont 

as  he  had  done  every  moment  since  he  had  seen  her, 
how  great  was  her  improvement  in  language,  in  manners, 
in  all  externals.  But  she  was  the  same  Bess  after 
all,  —  warm-hearted,  generous,  full  of  courage  and  quite 
capable  of  vindictiveness.  A  gallant  on  the  seat  beside 
her  venturing  some  impertinent  glances  at  her,  Bess 
turned,  coolly  surveyed  him,  and  then  remarked  out 
aloud,  as  if  talking  to  herself, 

"  Of  all  the  monkeys  I  ever  saw,  this  is  the  worst. 
The  very  dogs  in  Paris  will  bark  at  us  if  we  carry  him 
all  the  way." 

And  this  gay  gentleman,  like  others,  began  by  admir- 
ing Bess's  blooming  beauty,  and  ended  by  cursing  her 
saucy  tongue. 

It  was  long  after  dark  before  they  rolled  into  Paris, 
and  Roger  escorted  Bess  to  her  own  door.  The  Mazets 
were  delighted  to  see  him,  and  nothing  would  do  but 
he  must  stay  to  supper.  As  soon  as  he  accepted  their 
invitation,  Bess  disappeared  into  the  kitchen.  While 
Papa  Mazet  was  telling  with  pride  of  the  triumphs  of 
his  pet  pupil,  and  his  battles  on  her  account  with  the 
Abb^  d'Albret,  who  now  had  charge  of  the  King's 
Opera,  the  song-bird  was  standing  over  the  hatterie  de 
cuisine  in  the  kitchen,  preparing  a  delicious  supper, 
which  she  presently  served  with  her  own  hands.  After 
it  was  over,  and  it  was  time  for  Roger  to  seek  a  lodging, 
he  rose  to  go,  thanking  Papa  Mazet  and  the  old  sister 
for  their  kindness  to  his  friend.  Bess  went  with  him 
to  the  door,  and  held  a  candle  in  her  hand  to  light  him 
down  the  dark  street.  He  heard  her  sweet,  clear  voice 
calling  after  him,  "  Good-night,  Mr.  Roger,  and  good 
sleep  to  you !  " 

Next  day,  at  an  appointed  hour,  he  went  to  see  Dicky 
at  the  seminary.     They  hugged  each  other  as  they  had 

322 


Roger  has  a  Little  Adventure 

done  when  they  were  boys,  and  then  spent  the  afternoon 
together  in  the  garden  of  the  monastery,  —  a  quaint  old 
place,  shut  off  and  screened,  in  perfect  solitude,  al- 
though in  the  heart  of  the  great  city. 

It  amazed  Roger  that  Dicky  should  have  changed  so 
little.  He  seemed  exactly  like  the  apple-cheeked  boy 
he  had  loved  and  patronized  and  bullied  and  hectored 
over  at  Egremont  in  those  days,  so  long,  long  past. 
Yet,  as  Bess  Lukens  said,  Dicky  was  all  of  three  and 
twenty,  and  that  he  was  no  longer  a  boy  was  proved  by 
what  he  told  Roger. 

"You  must  know,  Roger,"  he  said,  "that  the  Supe- 
rior may  let  me  be  ordained  before  my  ten  years  of 
.  study  are  over.  In  truth,  old  boy,  I  think  the  Superior 
knows  that  I  shall  never  be  as  learned  as  most  of  the  men 
in  the  Society  of  Jesus,  and  that  I  shall  never  be  more 
than  respectable  at  books.  It  is  action  that  will  suit  me 
best.  And  there  have  come  to  us  many  letters  and 
messages  from  our  scattered  flocks  in  England,  praying 
for  priests  to  come  to  theift ;  and  in  the  present  perse- 
cution it  is  useless  for  any  of  the  Society  to  go  there 
except  an  Englishman  who  can  maintain  his  disguise. 
So  I  have  urgently  prayed  the  Superior  to  let  me  be 
ordained  and  go  to  my  native  country.  I  think  my 
precious  fiddle  will  supply  me  with  a  disguise.  Think, 
Roger,  how  delightful  it  must  be  to  walk  through  green 
England,  doing  one's  duty,  and  taking  one's  pleasure  in 
the  fresh  fields  and  the  pleasant  country  lanes,  and  bask- 
ing in  God's  sun  all  the  while." 

"  And  playing  the  fiddle,"  assented  Roger.  "  Dick, 
man,  I  will  not  dissuade  you.  If  't  is  your  duty  to  go, 
it  shall  not  be  said  that  I,  the  head  of  our  house  —  such 
a  poor,  broken  house  it  is  !  —  shall  keep  you  back.  No 
more  would  you  keep  me  back  from  leading  the  forlorn 

828 


The  House  of  Egremont 

hope,  if  I  were  accorded  that  honor.  You  stand  a  good 
chance  of  escape  —  for  not  eight  years'  residence  in 
France  has  altered  the  Devonshire  tongue  of  you." 

"  And  the  poor  people  about  Egremont,  most  of  them, 
are  non-jurors  anyway,  and  much  as  many  of  them 
hate  my  religion,  they  love  the  name  of  Egremont  too 
well  to  betray  me.  So  if  you  hear  of  me  going  to  Eng- 
land, be  not  too  anxious  about  me.  I  have  a  thousand 
chances  of  escape." 

Then  Dicky  had  a  whole  batch  of  news  about  Egre- 
mont, to  which  Roger  listened  thirstily.  Hugo  Stein 
was  in  high  favor  with  the  Whig  government,  who 
found  his  knowledge  of  languages  useful  in  matters  re- 
quiring a  trusty  agent  on  the  continent.  He  was  now 
known  as  Sir  Hugo  Egremont,  William  of  Orange  hav- 
ing made  him  a  baronet  on  the  last  royal  birthday.  He 
was  much  on  the  seas,  between  England  and  the  conti- 
nent. Possibly  he  did  not  find  England  a  very  agree- 
able residence  ;  he  was  in  no  great  favor  in  Devonshire. 
The  estate  did  not  suffer  by*these  absences.  Hugo  was 
as  thrifty  as  any  Flemish  weaver,  and  was  always  in- 
creasing his  store.  He  had  added  several  hundred  acres 
of  land  to  Egremont,  but,  wishing  to  dispose  of  some 
which  was  of  the  original  estate  but  not  in  the  entail, 
he  had  been  infuriated  to  find  that  he  was  not  considered 
competent  to  make  a  title.  True,  the  gentleman,  who 
had  been  very  anxious  to  buy  this  same  land  in  Roger's 
time,  was  a  Jacobite,  and  as  such,  might  very  well  doubt 
the  legality  of  the  bestowal  of  estates  which  William 
of  Orange  so  liberally  indulged  in,  yet  his  reasons  were 
plausible.  The  "  parliament  men,"  as  William  of 
Orange  angrily  called  them,  were  perpetually  meddling 
with  these  grants  of  estates,  and  some  very  prudent 
Whigs  were  not  satisfied  with  such  titles  as  the  new  in- 

324 


Roger  has  a  Little  Adventure 

cumbents  could  give.  Sir  Hugo  had  made  desperate 
efforts  after  this  to  sell  this  land,  at  any  sort  of  a  price, 
—  rightly  considering  that  his  whole  estate  was  in  jeop- 
ardy, if  he  could  not  alienate  an  acre,  —  but  he  had 
been  totally  unsuccessful,  and  was  furiously  chagrined 
thereby. 

All  this  delighted  Roger  beyond  measure,  and  he 
indulged  himself  in  calling  his  half-brother  a  thief, 
rogue,  rascal,  scoundrel,  liar,  and  traitor,  and  enjoyed  it 
very  much. 

Then  he  had  to  tell  Dicky  in  detail  all  he  had  done 
and  seen  and  heard  since  last  they  met,  although  Dicky 
had  had  a  pretty  full  account  of  it  in  Roger's  letters. 

The  short  winter  afternoon  was  closing  when  they 
parted.  Roger's  spirit  was  always  calmed  and  cheered 
by  Dicky.  Here  was  indeed  a  single-minded  man,  —  a 
man  who  craved  not  riches,  nor  glory,  nor  slothful  ease, 
but  who  earnestly  desired  to  help  his  fellow-creatures ; 
a  man  free  from  vanity,  —  Dicky  Egremont  modestly 
and  humbly  owned  that  he  was  not  a  man  of  books 
in  an  order  where  learning  was  held  in  vast  esteem,  — 
and  who,  knowing  his  own  limitations,  was  the  stronger 
thereby.  When  Dicky  Egremont  became  Father  Egre- 
mont, so  Roger  thought,  he  would  never  be  a  great  teacher 
in  the  schools  of  Louvain  and  Clermont,  or  St.  Omer's, 
or  Paris,  but  he  would  be  found  ever  with  the  poor  and 
the  ignorant  and  the  timid.  He  was  so  devoid  of  fear 
that  he  always  had  his  wits  about  him,  so  Roger  re- 
membered, and  therefore,  great  as  would  be  his  danger 
in  venturing' into  England,  yet  he  would  have  every 
chance  for  his  life  which  coolness  and  resource  could 
give. 

On  the  Monday  Roger  returned  to  St.  Germains. 
Berwick  had  come  from  Choisy,  where  he  had  been  in 

325 


The  House  of  Egremont 

attendance  on  Monseigneur,  and  had  already  been  twice 
to  the  inn  of  Michot  to  see  him.  As  soon  as  Roger 
had  seen  Merrylegs,  who  was  leading  the  life  of  a 
gentleman  in  the  inn  stables,  he  set  off  for  the  chateau, 
by  way  of  the  terrace.  It  was  quite  full  of  people,  and 
he  was  stopped  every  few  steps  to  speak  to  some  one. 
Presently  he  saw  the  Queen  approaching  with  several 
ladies  and  gentlemen  in  attendance.  He  recognized  at 
once  Honora  de  Burgh,  in  her  black  hood  and  gown, 
looking  as  fragile  and  beautiful  as  an  anemone.  And 
by  her  side  was  the  tall  figure  of  Berwick  —  the  Pike, 
he  was  still  called.  Roger  was  passing  the  Queen  with 
a  low  reverence,  when  she  stopped  him  and  spoke 
graciously;  and  then  Berwick,  grasping  his  hand,  in- 
troduced him  to  Sarsfield's  beautiful  young  widow. 

"  The  Duke  of  Berwick  has  told  me  much  of  you. 
Major  Egremont,"  she  said,  —  and  her  voice  was  exqui- 
sitely sweet,  but  something  in  that  voice,  those  eyes 
which  smiled  as  did  her  lips,  had  a  foreboding;  she 
looked,  as  indeed  she  was,  too  frail  for  earth. 

She  was  most  gracious  to  Roger  then,  and  in  the 
evening  at  the  palace.  And  that  night,  when  Berwick 
went  back  with  Roger  to  the  inn,  the  story  came  out ; 
Berwick,  blushing  like  a  girl,  told  that  he  was  to  marry 
the  beautiful  young  widow  in  the  spring.  And  he  did 
not,  as  men  commonly  do,  ask  Roger  when  he  meant  to 
do  likewise;  he  had  great  knowledge  of  the  human 
heart ;  he  knew  that  Roger  Egremont  had  once  loved, 
and  his  love  had  proved  unfortunate.  Roger  grasped 
Berwick's  hand,  and  wished  him  joy  from  the  very 
bottom  of  a  faithful  heart,  and  said,  with  truth,  that 
any  man  might  love  that  sweet  and  gracious  and  lovely 
flower  of  a  woman,  Madame  Sarsfield.  Berwick  asked 
Roger  his  plans,  and  in  reply  got  that  Roger  had  a 

326 


Roger  has  a  Little  Adventure 

month's  leave,  but  thought  he  would  rejoin  his  regiment 
in  Brabant  long  before  it  was  out.  He  had  paid  his 
duty  to  the  King ;  he  had  seen  the  only  three  persons 
in  the  world  who  cared  to  see  him,  —  his  cousin  Richard 
Egremont,  his  old  friend  Bess  Lukens,  and  Berwick 
himself.  As  for  his  cousins  of  the  Sandhills,  he  sincerely 
hoped  he  would  never  clap  eyes  on  any  one  of  them 
again,  —  either  the  gambling,  dissolute  Edward  or  the 
sanctimonious  Anthony.  As  for  Madame  de  Beaumanoir, 
—  at  this  he  halted ;  the  old  lady  had  been  so  uni- 
formly friendly  to  him  that  he  felt  an  ingrate  in  saying 
he  did  not  wish  to  see  her,  and  was  glad  to  hear  she 
was  not  at  St.  Germains. 

"  Tut,  man,"  cried  Berwick  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
man  in  love,  "  you  have  vapors,  like  women.  You  will 
be  asking  for  an  extension  of  leave  within  two  more 
days !  —  that  I  warrant." 

Nevertheless,  before  the  end  of  the  week,  Roger,  on 
Merrylegs,  was  trotting  soberly  back  to  Brabant.  He 
reckoned  himself  fortunate  in  one  way.  No  one  had 
mentioned  to  him  the  name  of  the  Princess  of  Orla- 
munde.  He  was  as  certain  that  she  was  a  miserable 
woman  as  he  was  that  he  himself  was  a  living  man  ; 
but  he  could  not  bear  to  have  her  misery  spoken  of  to 
him. 


327 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN  WHICH  AJSr  EGREMONT  HAS  THE  HAPPINESS  OF 
RETXTKNING  TO  HIS  NATIVE  LAND  —  AND  WHAT 
BEFELL  HIM  THERE 

THE  winter  of  1695-96  was  balmy  and  mild,  and 
the  smugglers  —  known  as  "  owlers  "  —  between 
France  and  England  were  very  lively.  The  great 
ladies  of  London  actually  had  the  felicity  of  seeing, 
in  the  secrecy  of  milliners'  back  parlors,  some  dolls 
dressed  in  Paris,  so  as  to  show  the  very  latest  fashions. 
Also,  if  one  were  very  discreet  and  had  much  money, 
certain  French  laces,  silks,  and  perfumes  could  be 
bought  on  the  sly.  Every  smuggler  did  a  good  busi- 
ness that  winter  except  one,  which  lay  sluggishly  at 
anchor  at  a  little  fishing  village  near  Calais,  during 
the  whole  month  of  January.  Dark  nights  came,  but 
the  "  owler "  moved  not.  The  people  in  the  little 
town  thought  the  captain  had  lost  all  enterprise,  but 
it  was  none  of  their  affair ;  smuggling  was  too  common 
for  the  movements  of  a  single  "  owler "  to  excite  re- 
mark in  a  little  fishing  village. 

At  last,  one  night,  two  gentlemen  arrived  in  a 
travelling-chaise.  One  of  them  was  a  very  tall  man, 
with  long,  delicate  fingers  like  the  royal  house  of  Stuart, 
and  he  was  evidently  a  soldier.  He  had  with  him, 
however,  no  attendant.  The  other  person's  status  it  was 
difficult  to  discover,  except  in  one  particular  —  he  was 
evidently  a   gentleman.      He   had  a  very  fresh   com- 

328 


An  Egremont  Returned 

plexion,  a  pleasant  eye,  and  when  he  smiled  there  were 
dimples  in  his  cheek  like  a  girl's.  He  was  plainly, 
even  commonly  dressed,  in  old  clothes,  but  was  scrupu- 
lously neat ;  and  he  carried  a  fiddle-case.  Yet  he  was 
treated  upon  a  footing  of  perfect  equality  by  the  tall 
gentleman.  The  two  ate  together,  and  even  slept  to- 
gether in  the  one  room  which  a  fisherman's  family 
could  spare  them.  Two  days  after  they  arrived,  came 
a  vessel  from  England  bringing  despatches,  and  that 
night,  just  as  the  moon  was  going  down,  the  two 
gentlemen  went  aboard  the  "owler,"  her  anchor  was 
picked  up,  and  her  nose  was  turned  toward  England. 

They  were  barely  three  hours  at  sea  when  they  were 
landed  at  Dover,  where  they  both  took  the  London 
coach,  but  at  different  points.  Nor  did  the  tall  gentle- 
man bow,  when  the  younger  one  with  the  fresh  face, 
and  the  dimples,  and  the  fiddle  case,  mounted  the 
top  of  the  coach.  Indeed,  his  manners  changed  ex- 
cessively, for  he  said  angrily  to  the  young  man  who 
had  slept  in  the  same  room  with  him  the  night  before, 
"  Have  a  care,  my  man.  You  are  crowding  your 
betters." 

"  I  humbly  beg  pardon,  sir,"  replied  the  young  man, 
touching  his  hat,  "  but  I  am  a  stranger  in  these  parts, 
and  indeed,  not  much  used  to  the  road  anyhow." 

The  two  travelled  all  the  way  to  London  in  company, 
and  scarce  exchanged  a  word  with  each  other.  But 
at  certain  stages,  when  they  were  for  a  time  the  only 
passengers,  there  was  evidently  intelligence  between 
them. 

It  was  late  at  night  before  they  reached  the  great, 
smoky  city  —  wrapped  in  blackness,  a  river  dark  as  the 
Styx  flowing  sluggishly,  and  great  piles  of  buildings 
frowning  down  upon  it.     London  after  dark  in  1696, 

329 


The  House  of  Egremont 

was  a  city  of  dreadful  night.  The  stopping  place  of 
the  coach  was  at  the  Cock  tavern  in  Bow  Street. 

The  tall  gentleman  had  a  small  portmanteau,  which 
he  himself  handled,  to  the  disgust  of  the  tavern  porters. 
The  younger  man  had  a  little  bag,  such  as  might  belong 
to  a  man  who  carried  a  fiddle-case.  The  porters  did 
not  think  it  worth  their  while  to  offer  their  services  to 
this  person. 

The  two  departed  from  the  inn  without  waiting  for 
supper,  the  gentleman  merely  saying  he  had  engaged 
lodgings  elsewhere,  while  the  fiddler  alleged  that  he 
must  look  for  a  cheaper  place  to  sleep.  Although  they 
went  in  opposite  directions,  within  fifteen  minutes  they 
were  walking  up  and  down  a  narrow  street  together, 
in  the  shadow  of  a  church  porch. 

"  I  hope,  my  Lord  Duke,"  said  the  younger  man,  who 
was  Dicky  Egremont,  "  that  you  and  Sir  John  Fenwick 
and  the  other  gentlemen  engaged  in  this  effort  to 
restore  the  King  will  understand  exactly  how  I  am 
placed.  My  services  and  my  life  are  at  the  disposal 
of  our  rightful  King;  that  I  consider  the  duty  of  a 
Christian  and  a  loyal  subject.  Nay,  more.  As  I  am 
a  priest,  and  without  domestic  ties,  my  life  is  not  to 
me  what  it  is  to  a  layman,  —  to  you,  my  Lord  Duke,  for 
example,  with  a  young  wife.  Therefore,  if  there  be 
any  extra  hazardous  duty,  it  is  clear  that  I  am  the  man 
to  take  the  risk.  I  am  no  hero,  but  I  hope  I  am  an 
honorable  man,  and  capable  of  doing  my  duty." 

"  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  of  it,  Mr.  Egremont," 
replied  Berwick,  warmly ;  "  and  your  coming  to  England 
at  this  time,  when  there  is  a  price  upon  the  head  of 
every  member  of  the  Society  of  Jesus  is  proof'  enough 
of  your  courage." 

"  But  I  wish  to  say,"  continued  Dicky,  "  that  I  am 

380 


An  Egremont  Returned 

here  also  to  administer  the  sacraments  to  those  of  our 
religion  who  have  long  been  deprived  of  them,  especially 
the  poorer  people  about  Egremont.  As  long  as  our 
family  was  in  possession  of  the  estate,  the  few  poor 
families  who  are  of  our  religion  were  protected  by  the 
lords  of  the  manor.  But  now,  for  near  eight  years 
they  have  been  like  sheep  without  a  shepherd.  I  do 
not  think  the  danger  for  me  very  great.  In  one  quarter 
of  Devonshire  my  name  is  a  safeguard.  I  think  no 
young  gentleman  in  that  county  was  as  great  a  favorite 
with  the  common  people  as  my  cousin  Roger.  None 
of  them  would  betray  me,  no  matter  how  hot  Protestants 
they  are.  If  you  can  communicate  with  Tom  Hawkins 
the  fiddler,  at  the  house  of  David  Hodge,  shoemaker, 
in  the  village  of  Egremont,  you  will  find  a  willing 
servant  of  the  King." 

"  I  have  the  name  in  my  pocket-book,  and  I  will  not 
forget  you,  Tom  Hawkins.  And  you  have  mine,  Mr. 
Calthorpe,  at  the  Globe  tavern  in  Hatton  Garden. 
Good-bye.     May  God  prosper  you." 

"  The  same  to  you,  my  Lord  Duke.     Adieu." 

Dicky  walked  on  in  the  darkness  until  he  reached 
a  place  of  entertainment  of  the  humbler  class,  a  con- 
siderable distance  from  Bow  Street.  A  few  tunes  on 
his  fiddle  got  him  a  bed  and  supper,  —  he  had  money, 
but  was  wary  of  showing  it,  —  and  after  playing  for 
the  revellers  for  an  hour,  he  was  glad  to  tumble  in  to 
a  flock  bed  and  sleep,  —  the  sweetest  sleep,  he  thought, 
he  had  had  since  he  had  left  his  native  country,  now 
more  than  nine  years  before. 

There  was  ever  a  flame  of  adventure  in  the  blood  of 
the  Egremonts;  for  Dicky,  priest  that  he  was,  found 
himself  perfectly  happy  when,  next  morning,  he  trudged 
out  of  London  toward  the  sweet  country,  with  his  bag 

331 


The  House  of  Egremont 

on  his  back,  and  his  fiddle  in  his  hand,  albeit  he  was 
without  a  place  to  lay  his  head,  and  it  was  death  for 
him  to  be  on  English  soil.  It  was  likewise  felony  to 
harbor  a  Jesuit ;  therefore  Dicky  had  privately  re- 
solved to  learn  to  live  out  of  doors,  so  as  to  jeopardize 
as  few  lives  as  possible. 

He  walked  on  all  that  day,  keeping  the  highroad  to 
the  southward,  and  stopping  at  half  a  dozen  houses  of 
entertainment,  where  he  made  his  darling  fiddle  sing. 
He  was  careful  to  play  only  English  tunes,  or  to  give 
English  names  to  the  French  ones  he  played,  for  he  had 
no  mind  to  let  any  one  suspect  that  he  was  lately  from 
France.  While  it  was  true  the  body  of  the  people  at 
that  time  were  groaning  under  the  taxation  imposed 
by  William's  wars,  and  were  therefore  extremely 
friendly  to  the  Jacobites,  yet  the  superstitious  fear  of 
the  Jesuits  still  prevailed.  Dicky  Egremont,  stout 
Englishman  that  he  was,  would  have  had  short  shrift 
had  his  real  calling  been  known. 

It  was  mild  for  the  season,  and  being  out  in  God's 
free  air  all  day  was  solid  happiness  to  Dicky,  who  had 
been  cooped  up  between  walls,  with  books  chiefly  for 
company,  during  nearly  ten  whole  years.  He  was  so 
joyous  in  spirit  that  he  wished  to  dance  and  sing  as 
well  as  play.  As  he  walked  along  the  highroad  toward 
noonday,  he  saw,  down  a  little  lane,  some  laborer's  cot- 
tages. A  dozen  bare-legged  children  were  playing  be- 
fore the  doors.  Dicky,  who  loved  children,  went  toward 
them,  and  smiling  ran  his  bow  across  the  strings  of  his 
violin.  The  children  stopped,  awed  for  a  moment,  but 
when  he  began  to  play  "  Green  Sleeves,"  and  to  sing 
the  song  as  he  played,  they  came  about  him  in  open- 
mouthed  delight.  Then  one  little  urchin  was  moved  to 
dance,  and  Dicky,  by  way  of  encouraging  the  others, 

832 


An  Egremont  Returned 

began  to  do  the  most  beautiful  steps,  playing  meanwhile. 
At  that  all  the  little  ones  fell  to  dancing,  the  urchin 
who  had  opened  the  ball  seizing  the  forepaws  of  a 
meek-looking  dog,  and  whirling  him  around  madly. 
Dicky  played  faster  and  faster;  his  fingers  wandered 
into  that  favorite  air  he  had  so  often  played  to  Bess 
Lukens's  singing,  "Les  Folies  en  Espagne."  The 
sweet,  rippling  music  brought  the  mothers  to  the  cottage 
doors,  who  stopped  from  their  daily  toil  long  enough 
to  smile  at  the  merry  young  fiddler,  who  had  such  girl- 
ish dimples  in  his  cheeks  and  who  was  dancing  so 
gayly,  stopping  sometimes  to  prod  the  impertinent 
urchin  who  danced  with  the  dog,  when  the  poor  animal 
was  being  whirled  around  too  fast  and  barked 
piteously. 

When  the  children  stopped  dancing,  and  sat  down 
panting,  Dicky  stopped  playing,  and  only  then.  A 
woman  came  out  and  very  civilly  brought  him  a  bowl 
of  milk  and  some  brown  bread.  Dicky  devoured  both 
with  the  greatest  relish.  Not  all  the  dainties  he  had 
even  seen  in  France  tasted  like  that  English  bread  and 
milk;  it  was  like  that  he  used  to  have  at  Egremont 
when  he  was  a  little  lad. 

Presently  it  was  time  to  take  the  road  again ;  for  he 
was  anxious  to  be  in  Devonshire  as  quickly  as  possible. 
The  children  followed  him  to  the  highroad,  and  after 
he  had  played  them  a  parting  tune  he  went  upon  his 
way.  He  had  scarcely  gone  a  hundred  yards,  when 
the  boy  with  the  dog  came  running  after  him. 

"  Here,  sir,"  he  said ;  "  my  daddy  has  told  me  I  must 
get  rid  of  Bold  ;  we  can't  feed  'im,  and  I  '11  give  'im  to 
you  if  you  '11  take  'im." 

Dicky  was  charmed.  A  dog  —  an  English  dog ! 
He  had  not  owned  one  since  he  left  England.     And  a 

333 


The  House  of  Egremont 

dog  would  go  excellently  well  with  his  disguise  and 
would  be  a  friend  as  well.  As  for  Bold  himself,  there 
was  nothing  imposing  about  him  but  his  name.  Dicky 
concluded  that  Bold  had  not  been  used  to  the  society 
of  gentlemen  ;  all  the  same,  never  was  dog  more  grate- 
fully received. 

"  Thank  you,  my  little  man  ;  and  here  is  a  shilling  for 
you.  I  '11  be  good  to  the  dog ;  that  you  may  depend 
upon." 

The  boy  looked  at  the  shilling  which  Dicky  put  in 
his  hand,  and  then,  appalled  at  such  munificence,  fled 
away  without  another  word. 

Dicky  whistled  to  Bold,  who  came  and  licked  his 
hand,  and  the  two  instantly  agreed  upon  eternal  friend- 
ship. But  as  Dicky  walked  briskly  along,  richer  by  a 
friend  and  companion,  he  bethought  himself  of  his 
behavior  and  began  to  see  that  he  had  been  singularly 
imprudent,  and  his  escape  from  detection  was  due 
wholly  to  the  ignorance  of  his  audience.  First,  he 
should  not  have  played  "  Les  Folies  en  Espagne." 
Then  his  dancing  had  comprised  some  foreign  steps 
which  might  have  instantly  aroused  suspicion ;  and  he 
had  so  far  departed  from  his  assumed  character  that  he 
had  given  money,  instead  of  asking  it.  However,  a 
miss  was  as  good  as  a  mile ;  and  like  most  men  of 
courage,  Dicky  troubled  himself  little  about  dangers 
as  soon  as  they  were  past. 

A  few  days  of  walking  brought  him  into  the  Devon 
country.  He  had  not  up  to  that  time  dared  to  make 
known  his  character  as  a  priest,  but  once  in  Devonshire, 
he  was  on  familiar  ground.  He  knew  the  few  Catholic 
families  in  the  county,  and  he  had  rightly  said  the 
Egremonts  had  friends  enough  in  that  county  to  pro- 
tect him,  Jesuit  though  he  be. 

884 


DICKY   WHISTLED   TO  BOLD,  WHO  CAME   AND   LICKED   HIS   HAND 


An  Egremont  Returned 

His  first  stop  was  at  the  house  of  a  Catholic  gentle- 
man near  Exeter.  Here  he  remained  for  two  weeks  in 
hiding,  celebrating  mass,  instructing  and  baptizing  many 
adult  persons.  Although  there  was  danger  in  having  it 
known  that  he  was  in  England,  it  got  bruited  abroad 
among  the  well-wishers  of  King  James;  and  many 
persons  of  Jacobite  principles,  Protestants  as  well  as 
Catholics,  visited  him  in  secret  to  know  how  matters 
were  at  St.  Germains.  The  prospects  of  an  uprising  in 
England  were  glowing.  The  people  objected  to  the 
clipped  money,  which  the  Whig  government  had  forced 
upon  them,  and  they  demanded  to  know  what  had  be- 
come of  the  vast  sums  raised  by  ruinous  taxation. 
Parliament  was  forced  to  prove  itself.  The  speaker  of 
the  House  of  Commons,  Sir  John  Trevor,  was  convicted 
of  having  accepted  a  bribe,  and  was  expelled  the 
House.  The  East  India  Company  was  found  to  have 
spent  fifty  thousand  pounds,  of  which  ten  thousand  went 
into  the  pocket  of  William  of  Orange.  He  had  made  a 
grant  of  five  sixths  of  the  county  of  Denbigh,  the 
ancient  domain  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  to  his  Dutch 
favorite  Bentinck.  The  Parliament  obliged  him  to 
recall  the  grant.  He  had  given  Lady  Orkney  a  good 
slice  of  Ireland ;  that  too  the  rude  "  parliament  men  "  as 
William  called  them,  roughly  and  coarsely  compelled 
him  to  restore.  They  would  have  done  worse,  had  not 
William  wisely  prorogued  them. 

Meanwhile  all  these  things,  especially  the  forcing 
foreigners  to  disgorge  the  estates  of  English  and  Irish 
gentlemen,  were  full  of  encouragement  to  all  the 
friends  of  the  Egremonts.  Dicky  discovered  it  was 
true  that  Hugo  Egremont,  alias  Stein,  had  been  unable 
to  alienate  an  acre  of  Egremont,  much  as  he  desired 
to  do  so,  —  and  he  was  so  generally  hated  and  despised 

335 


The  House  of  Egremont 

in  the  county,  it  was  said,  that  he  was  applying  for  a 
permanent  foreign  appointment ;  he  stood  in  great  favor 
with  the  court  party. 

There  was  very  great  activity  among  the  Jacobites 
assembled  in  London,  and  it  was  desired  by  the  friends 
of  King  James  in  Devonshire  to  communicate  with 
them.  Who  so  well  fitted  as  this  young  Egremont, 
who  was  quite  unknown  outside  his  native  county  ? 

Two  expeditions  to  and  from  London  did  Dicky  and 
Bold  make,  —  Dicky  each  time  with  papers  in  his 
pockets  enough  to  have  hanged  a  hundred  men.  He 
steadfastly  declined  to  know  their  contents. 

"  For,  in  case  I  am  stopped,  I  wish  to  say  that  I  do 
not  know  what  these  letters  refer  to,  nor  the  names  of 
the  persons  writing  them.  That  they  are  meant  to  help 
toward  the  restoration  of  our  lawful  King,  I  know,  and 
never  will  deny." 

After  the  second  of  these  journeys,  when  the  Jacob- 
ites only  needed  the  word  to  rise,  a  thunderbolt  fell  from 
the  sky.  Sir  John  Fenwick  was  arrested,  and  with  him 
Sir  John  Friend,  General  Rookwood,  and  many  other 
gentlemen  of  condition,  all  implicated  in  a  plot  to  ab- 
duct William  of  Orange.  One  gentleman,  known  as  Mr. 
Calthorpe,  escaped.  There  was  some  doubt  about  his 
identity,  but  it  was  noted  that  he  had  long,  slender  hands, 
with  delicate  fingers,  like  the  Stuarts.  Dicky  Egremont 
and  some  others  knew  who  this  gentleman  was. 

The  failure  of  the  expected  uprising  was  a  dis- 
appointment to  Dicky  Egremont,  as  to  all  the  other 
friends  of  King  James.  But  he  had  come  to  England 
upon  other  work.  It  was  to  preach,  to  pray,  to  admin- 
ister the  sacraments  to  the  poor,  —  for  it  was  toward 
these  unfortunate  children  of  the  common  Father  that 
Dicky  Egremont  yearned.     Truly,  the  Egremonts  had 

336 


An  Egremont  Returned 

ever  been  well  liked  by  the  humble  people.  It  was  with 
joy,  therefore,  that  he  left  the  house  of  his  friend,  near 
Exeter,  to  go  among  the  poor  and  despised  of  men; 
but  on  the  very  day  that  he  proposed  to  go  in  secret  to 
Egremont,  news  was  brought  from  London  that  among 
the  persons  indicted  for  an  attempt  to  murder  William 
of  Orange,  was  one  Richard  Egremont,  known  to  be  a 
Jesuit  priest  in  disguise,  who  had  been  active  in  the 
matter  from  the  start.  Dicky  at  once  disappeared  from 
the  neighborhood  of  Exeter,  but  within  a  week  was 
apprehended,  together  with  Bold,  his  dog,  in  the  vil- 
lage of  Egremont,  and  taken  in  chains,  as  became  a 
villain,  and  would-be  regicide,  to  London,  to  be  tried 
for  his  life.  And  for  the  second  time  an  Egremont 
stood  in  the  prisoners'  dock,  accused  of  a  capital  crime 
against  the  person  of  William  of  Orange. 

The  affair  for  which  eleven  gentlemen  were  tried, 
and  nine  convicted,  was  so  very  like  the  former  one,  in 
which  Roger  Egremont  had  been  engaged,  that  it  seemed 
as  if  the  young  Jesuit  was  convicted  on  evidence  offered 
in  his  cousin's  case.  It  was  the  same  story,  —  a  plot 
to  kidnap  William  of  Orange.  Only,  the  statements  of 
the  two  kinsmen  were  entirely  different.  It  was  well  re- 
membered that  Roger  had  coolly  avowed  his  intention, 
and  when  asked,  in  tones  of  horror,  if  he  contemplated 
murder,  remarked  that  in  a  melee  with  pistols  and 
swords,  it  would  not  be  surprising  if  some  one  got  hurt, 
and  for  his  part,  had  the  Prince  of  Orange  refused  to 
submit,  he  would  have  had  it  out  with  him,  and  one  or 
the  other  might  have  been  killed. 

Dicky  Egremont,  on  the  contrary,  swore  that  he  knew 

nothing  of  the  plot,  and  was  not  in  the  confidence  of 

the  conspirators ;  but  that  he  knew  it  was  a  movement 

for  the  restoration  of  King  James,  and  as  such  he  will- 

22  337 


The  House  of  Egremont 

ingly  assisted  in  transmitting  information.  This  was 
enough,  even  without  his  frank  avowal  that  he  belonged 
to  the  Society  of  Jesus.  It  was  not  even  necessary  to 
stretch  a  point,  as  in  the  case  of  Sir  John  Fenwick,  in 
whose  case  but  one  witness  could  be  found  to  convict 
him,  instead  of  the  two  which  the  law  required.  This 
was  promptly  remedied  by  a  bill  of  attainder,  and,  as  his 
counsel  urged,  *'  the  whole  force  of  parliament  was  used 
to  take  away  the  life  of  a  man  whom  the  laws  of  his 
country  could  not  condemn."  The  prisoners  were  con- 
fined in  Newgate  gaol.  Bold,  with  an  intelligence  far 
beyond  his  plebeian  and  mongrel  breed,  managed  to  fol- 
low his  master  even  to  Newgate.  The  poor  animal 
was  so  ugly  and  worthless  —  except  the  faithful  heart 
of  him  —  that  he  was  worth  no  man's  stealing. 

The  first  acquaintance  Bold  made,  after  sneaking  into 
Newgate,  was  Diggory  Hutchinson,  Bess  Lukens's  old 
admirer.  Diggory  remembered  something  about  the 
Jesuit  gentleman's  dog  having  followed  him,  and  on 
taking  Bold  to  Dicky's  cell,  the  two  companions  met 
with  such  a  rapture  of  friendship  that  Diggory's  heart 
—  not  a  bad  one  —  was  touched. 

"  I  can't  let  you  have  him  sir,"  he  said  to  Dicky, 
"but  I'll  keep  him,  and  fetch  him  to  see  you  once 
a  day  —  till  —  till  —  "  till  Dicky  was  convicted  and 
hanged,  was  in  Diggory's  mind. 

Dicky  was  charmed  at  the  idea  of  having  his  dog 
with  him,  even  for  an  hour  a  day,  and  thanked  Diggory 
most  gratefully.  Diggory  remembered  the  last  Egre- 
mont who  had  inhabited  Newgate,  and  reminded  Dicky 
of  it  when  he  brought  the  prisoner  his  gaol  fare  and  his 
dog,  on  the  first  day  of  his  imprisonment. 

Dicky,  on  this  announcement,  was  disposed  to  regard 
Diggory  as  more  of  a  friend  than  ever. 

388 


An  Egremont  Returned 

"  Do  you  remember  my  cousin  Roger  ?  Well,  they 
were  forced  to  put  him  out  of  gaol ;  perhaps  they  will  do 
the  same  with  me,"  he  said,  smiling.  The  dreadful  posi- 
tion in  which  he  found  himself  had  not  taken  the  ruddy 
color  out  of  his  face,  nor  the  laughing  light  from  his  eye. 

Diggory  shook  his  head  ;  he  knew  more  of  the  fate 
which  might  befall  a  prisoner  in  Newgate  than  Dicky 
did.  It  might  be  thought  that  a  prison  turnkey  must 
in  time  lose  all  human  feeling.  Not  so.  Diggory 
Hutchinson,  whose  heart  was  not  bad,  performed  his 
duties  with  the  same  exactness,  and  in  the  same  spirit, 
that  the  head  master  of  a  school  does. 

After  a  time  he  grew  sufficiently  intimate  with  Dicky 
to  ask,  in  a  stuttering  voice,  and  with  something  as  near 
a  blush  as  his  complexion  would  allow,  ■ — 

"  Did  you  ever  hear,  sir,  or  see,  a  lass  by  —  by  —  the 
name  o'  Lukens  ?  —  Bess  Lukens  ;  as  some  said,  followed 
Mr.  Roger  Egremont  to  France." 

"  I  know  her  well,"  cried  Dicky,  "  and  a  better  girl 
never  lived.  She  did,  in  truth,  go  to  France ;  but  she 
did  not  follow  my  cousin  or  any  other  man  there." 
And  then  he  gave  Diggory  a  rosy  description  of  Bess's 
condition  and  success. 

Diggory  went  away  very  thoughtful. 

Within  two  weeks  the  trial  of  the  conspirators  began, 
and  among  the  nine  men  convicted  was  "  Richard  Egre- 
mont, some  time  of  the  parish  of  Egremont  and  county 
of  Devon,  by  profession  a  popish  priest  and  of  the  Jesuit 
order."  Sir  John  Fenwick  was  sentenced  to  be  be- 
headed, but  Richard  Egremont,  Sir  John  Friend,  and 
Sir  William  Perkins,  —  the  last  two  wealthy  London 
merchants,  —  were  sentenced  to  be  hanged,  to  be  cut 
down  while  still  alive,  to  be  quartered,  and  their  heads 
and  dismembered  bodies  to  be  displayed  at  Temple  Bar. 

339 


The  House  of  Egremont 

This  sentence  was  pronounced  in  Westminster  Hall, 
at  dusk  on  a  spring  evening.  It  was  received  in  silence. 
When  the  young  priest  rose,  however,  in  spite  of 
their  grotesque  fear  of  his  order,  a  wave  of  pity 
swept  over  the  assembled  audience.  He  was  so  young 
and  boyish  looking,  —  he  had  never  looked  his  twenty- 
six  years  less  than  at  that  moment.  Having  listened 
with  perfect  composure  to  his  sentence,  the  young 
priest  asked  permission  to  speak.  Chief  Justice  Holt, 
noted  for  his  mildness  toward  prisoners,  and  who  had, 
seven  years  before,  ordered  the  chains  struck  from 
the  limbs  of  Roger  Egremont,  readily  gave  permission, 
saying,— 

"A  man  in  your  condition,  sir,  should  ever  be  al- 
lowed to  make  such  justification  as  he  can,  no  matter 
how  clearly  he  may  have  transgressed  the  laws  of  the 
land." 

"  I  humbly  thank  your  lordship,"  replied  Dicky ;  "  I 
desire  only  to  say,  on  the  word  of  a  priest,  a  gentleman, 
and  an  Egremont,  that  those  who  turned  King's  evi- 
dence, and  swore  that  I  was  concerned  in  any  scheme  to 
murder,  swore  falsely.  But  that  I  did  all  I  could,  which 
was  but  the  carrying  of  some  letters  back  and  forth, 
to  assist  in  the  restoration  of  King  James,  I  own ;  nor 
have  I  any  apologies  to  make.  And  I  shall  suffer  death 
cheerfully,  my  conscience  being  clear." 

The  prisoners  were  at  once  removed,  to  be  hanged 
the  next  day  but  one.  Dicky,  handcuffed  to  a  con- 
stable, like  his  fellow-prisoners,  was  led  down  the 
gloomy  stairs,  between  lines  of  curious  persons  ;  some 
denouncing  him,  others  pitying  his  youth  and  sup- 
posed misguided  conduct.  Arrived  at  the  great  door 
leading  into  the  street,  he  was  put  into  a  hackney  coach, 
with  another  constable  on  the  other  side  of  him. 

8i0 


An  Egremont  Returned 

The  night  had  fallen,  and  with  it  had  come  a  death- 
like fog,  which  wrapped  the  great  city.  The  coachman 
could  but  feel  his  way  along  the  dismal  streets,  faintly 
lighted  at  a  few  points  by  oil  lamps.  Dicky  was  per- 
fectly composed  and  cheerful,  and  was  talking  of  Egre- 
mont with  the  constable  to  whom  he  was  handcuffed, 
when  suddenly  a  scuffling  of  hoofs  was  heard,  the  coach 
started  off  violently,  rocking  from  side  to  side,  cries 
arose,  — the  horses  had  bolted. 

"  Keep  cool,  sir,"  said  the  man  on  his  left  to  Dicky ; 
to  which  Dicky  replied,  smiling,  — 

"  Keep  cool  yourself,  my  man.  I  am  to  die  on  the 
day  after  to-morrow,  anyhow ;  surely  there  is  no  occa- 
sion for  me  to  be  alarmed." 

The  horses  were  now  tearing  along  the  stony  street. 
At  a  sharp  turn  there  was  a  cry,  and  a  dark  object 
whirled  from  the  box  on  to  the  ground.  It  was  the  coach- 
man. The  horses,  now  quite  free  from  restraint,  rushed 
on  madly,  and  the  next  thing  came  a  shock,  a  crash, 
shrieks,  the  trampling  of  many  horses;  the  hackney 
coach  had  dashed  full  into  a  chariot  and  six,  with  several 
gentlemen  inside  of  it.  Dicky  felt  a  violent  blow  on  the 
head,  a  sudden  wrench,  a  falling  to  the  ground.  There 
was  a  plunging  of  horses,  groans  and  cries  of  pain, 
many  persons  running  together,  some  one  calling  for 
a  lantern.  In  the  midst  of  it  he  felt  himself  free  from 
his  companion.  He  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  staggered 
instinctively  out  of  the  mUee.  He  found  himself  lean- 
ing against  the  corner  of  a  wall.  There  was  much  con- 
fusion ;  one  person  in  the  chariot  was  killed,  and  one  of 
the  constables  was  shrieking  with  pain.  Dicky  recog- 
nized the  man's  voice.  A  crowd  had  collected  in  two 
minutes ;  and  then  the  cry  arose,  — 

"  Where  is  the  prisoner  ?  " 
341 


The  House  of  Egremont 

That  one  word  restored  to  Dicky  Egremont  his 
strength  and  his  senses.  He  turned  instantly,  and  fled 
through  the  darkness. 

He  ran  until  he  was  breathless,  and  then,  stopping 
for  a  moment  to  listen,  heard  not  a  step  behind  him, 
and  looking  before  him  he  saw  that  he  was  on  the  very 
brink  of  the  black  river.  Looming  up  before  him  were 
ghostly  hulks  and  shadowy  masts  and  spars  of  ships, 
with  lanterns  twinkling  feebly.  He  looked  about  him, 
and  seeing  not  a  soul  in  sight,  fell  upon  his  knees, 
crying,  — 

"  I  thank  Thee,  O  my  Father,  for  Thy  protection  so 
far;  but  if  Thou  hast  ordained  that  I  should  suffer 
death  for  Thy  sake,  I  ardently  accept  Thy  will." 

Then,  rising  to  his  feet,  he  walked  rapidly  on,  keep- 
ing close  to  the  river  bank.  He  met  few  persons,  and 
those  he  easily  concealed  himself  from  in  the  dense  and 
overhanging  fog. 

He  became  conscious  of  pain  in  his  left  wrist,  and 
realized  that  it  was  badly  wrenched  and  skinned  where 
it  had  been  dragged  through  the  handcuff.  But  there 
was  no  blood  to  betray  him.  He  pulled  the  sleeve  of  his 
body-coat  down  over  it,  and  walked  on.  When  he  had 
gone,  he  judged,  at  least  three  miles  down  the  river,  he 
stopped.  There  were  still  vessels  to  be  seen,  but  they 
were  not  thickly  clustered  as  higher  up.  There  were 
some  houses  scattered  about,  —  one  of  them,  a  small, 
tumble-down  place,  quite  uninhabited,  with  its  door 
wide  open.  He  entered  it,  closed  the  door  as  well  as  he 
could,  looked  about  him  and  saw  that  the  decaying 
windows  were  fast,  and  then,  after  giving  thanks,  he 
lay  down  upon  the  bare  floor,  and  in  two  minutes  had 
fallen  into  that  sweet  sleep  which  had  ever  been  the 
portion  of  his  brave  and  innocent  spirit. 

342 


An  Egremont  Returned 

He  did  not  waken  until  he  heard,  in  the  far  distance, 
the  chiming  of  a  church  clock  at  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  It  was  still  dark ;  the  fog  lay  black  and 
heavy  over  city  and  river.  He  peered  out  of  a  broken 
window  and  saw  that  he  was  in  a  lonely  place,  with  no 
houses  very  near.  He  was  ravenously  hungry,  but  he 
dared  not  go  forth  for  food. 

He  spent  the  day  in  alternately  watching  and  sleep- 
ing. He  had  neither  money,  food,  nor  weapon  —  was 
ever  fugitive  worse  provided  for  flight?  Yet  his 
courage  did  not  falter.  Truly,  there  was  no  cowardice 
in  the  Egremont  blood. 

Toward  night  of  this  first  day,  hunger  drove  him 
forth.  There  were  a  few  scattered  houses  with  culti- 
vated fields  along  the  river  bank,  and  one  of  these 
tilled  spots  was  a  turnip  field.  Dicky  made  for  this 
field  in  the  half  darkness,  and  ate  his  fiill  and  crammed 
his  pockets  with  turnips.  Then  he  ran  back  as  fast  as 
his  legs  would  carry  him  to  the  deserted  house. 

In  all  the  waking  hours  since  he  had  found  himself 
without  handcuffs,  his  mind  had  been  working  on  the 
problem  of  escape.  The  river  before  him  seemed  the 
only  natural  and  feasible  highroad  for  him.  There 
were  many  vessels  moving  about,  and  at  anchor.  In 
particular,  there  lay,  immediately  in  front  of  the  de- 
serted house,  a  heavy  lugger,  such  as  was  used  in 
those  days  for  voyaging  between  England  and  the  con- 
tinent. And  balancing  his  slender  chances  for  escape, 
Dicky  thought  if  he  could  get  on  board  that  vessel  it 
might  be  well  for  him.  They  were  always  ready  to 
ship  a  likely  young  man.  Dicky  was  well-made  and 
active,  though  short ;  only,  he  knew  nothing  of  a  sailor's 
work,  and  his  injured  wrist  might  betray  him. 

With  this  plan  in  view,  Dicky  lay  down  on  the  bare 

S4A 


The  House  of  Egremont 

floor  and  slept  easily  and  soundly  that  second  night. 
Luckily,  the  weather  was  extremely  mild,  and  the  disci- 
pline he  had  known  at  Clermont  and  at  Paris  —  to  live 
on  meagre  fare,  to  lie  on  a  hard  bed,  to  rise  before  day- 
light —  stood  him  in  good  stead. 

He  waked  at  five  o'clock,  the  hour  at  which  he  had 
always  been  accustomed  to  rise  while  at  the  seminary. 
The  first  thought  which  had  occurred  to  him  was  that  it 
was  the  day  on  which  the  nine  Jacobite  gentlemen  with 
whom  he  had  been  tried  would  mount  the  scaffold. 
Dicky  Egremont  wondered  at  the  providence  of  God 
which  had  suffered  him  alone  of  them  all  to  escape ; 
him  to  whom  death  would  be  less  bitter  than  to  men 
who  left  families  behind  them,  whose  estates  were 
likely  to  be  sequestrated,  their  children  certain  to  sink 
into  poverty.  Dicky  Egremont  would  have  reckoned 
himself  the  happiest  man  on  earth  could  he  have  ex- 
changed places  with  any  one  of  those  unfortunate  gentle- 
men, and  would  have  gone  cheerfully  to  his  death  to 
have  spared  an  agonized  wife  and  weeping  children  the 
loss  of  a  husband  and  father.  But  God  had  decreed 
otherwise;  and  Dicky,  falling  upon  his  knees,  prayed 
long  and  earnestly  for  his  unfortunate  fellow-prisoners, 
who  were  to  suffer  that  day. 

As  soon  as  it  was  light  he  glanced  out  and  saw  the 
lugger  still  lying  at  anchor,  with  no  signs  of  leaving. 
He  spent  that  second  day  in  prayer,  and  having  but 
one  means  of  mortification,  he  ate  no  turnips  that  day, 
and  so  went  fasting. 

The  day  grew  foggy,  and  it  was  not  until  the  stars 
were  out  in  the  evening  that  he  saw  any  indications 
of  leaving.  Then  a  boat  passed  back  and  forth  from 
the  shore,  and  presently,  coming  shoreward,  stopped  as 
if  waiting  for  some   one.      And   in  the  dusky  April 

344 


An  Egremont  Returned 

evening,  Dicky  saw  a  figure,  evidently  a  seafaring  man, 
walking  toward  the  place  where  the  boat  waited. 

Dicky  surmised  that  this  man  was  the  skipper,  and 
going  out  of  the  house,  made  for  him  and  accosted  him 
boldly  but  civilly. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "are  you  in  want  of  hands  on  your 
vessel ?  " 

"  I  always  am,"  replied  the  captain ;  and  then,  his 
practised  eye  seeing  that  Dicky  was  a  gentleman,  he 
asked,  "  What  straits  have  brought  you  to  this  pass  ?  " 
At  the  very  first  word  the  skipper  spoke,  Dicky's  heart 
bounded  with  joy.  The  Devonshire  buiT  ran  through 
all  his  speech. 

"You  are  a  Devonshire  man,  I  see,"  said  Dicky, 
coolly ;  "  so  am  I.  Take  me  aboard  and  I  will  tell  you 
that  which  will  make  you  willing  to  let  me  work  my 
passage  to  wherever  you  are  bound." 

"You  are  right;  I  am  Devon  born  and  bred,"  re- 
plied the  skipper.  "  We  sail  with  the  tide  for  Antwerp. 
Where  is  your  passage  money  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  have  asked  to  earn  my 
passage  had  I  money  in  my  pocket  ?  My  friend,  I  am 
a  gentleman  of  your  own  county.  If  you  take  me 
to  Antwerp,  I  give  you  the  word  of  a  gentleman  that 
you  shall  have,  within  a  month,  the  best  rate  you  ever 
had  for  a  passenger  in  your  life." 

The  skipper  motioned  him  into  the  boat.  Arrived 
on  board,  he  dared  not  ask  for  anything  to  eat  in  spite 
of  the  hunger  that  gnawed  him  like  a  wolf.  He  waited, 
therefore,  with  such  patience  as  he  could,  while  the 
anchor  was  hove ;  and,  a  fresh  breeze  rising,  in  half  an 
hour  they  were  moving  slowly  down  the  river,  stealing 
past  mansions  and  farmsteads  and  low-lying  houses, 
by  the  faint  gleam  of  the  stars. 

345 


The  House  of  Egremont 

When  they  were  well  on  their  way,  the  captain 
leaving  the  deck  for  a  few  minutes,  supper  was  served 
in  a  stuffy  little  cabin  by  a  ragged  cabin  boy.  By  that 
time  Dicky  was  too  faint  to  eat  ravenously. 

"  I  have  seen  that  to-day,"  said  the  skipper,  "  which 
might  spoil  any  man's  supper.  I  have  seen  the  heads  and 
quarters  of  two  London  citizens,  Sir  John  Friend  and 
Sir  William  Perkins  nailed  up  at  Temple  Bar.  They 
were  hanged  to-day." 

"  God  rest  their  souls,"  said  Dicky  after  a  moment. 
And  catching  the  man's  eye  fixed  on  him  meaningly, 
he  saw  that  he  was  known.  He  turned  up  his  sleeve 
and  showing  his  bruised  arm,  said,  — 

"  I  am  Richard  Egremont,  who  was  to  have  been 
hanged  this  day,  but  God  willed  it  otherwise.  I  am 
of  that  Devonshire  family  which  has  seen  its  estates 
given  to  bastards  and  strangers,  and  we  have  been 
forced  to  eat  the  bread  of  exile  for  more  than  seven 
years.     Now  give  me  up,  if  you  choose." 

"  I  do  not  choose,"  replied  the  man,  after  a  moment. 
"  Not  all  of  us  in  England  like  our  new  King  and  our 
new  taxes.  I  be  no  Papist,  but  I  will  betray  no  gentle- 
man because  he  is  a  Papist  or  even  a  Popish  priest. 
And  though  I  be  not  often  in  late  years  in  Devon,  yet, 
I  have  heard  of  Mr.  Roger  Egremont  being  turned  out 
for  his  father's  by-blow,  and  a  shame  I  think  it.  So 
eat  and  sleep  in  peace,  Mr.  Egremont,  and  when  I  re- 
turn to  England  I  '11  swear  I  never  saw  or  heard  of 
you." 

"  I  thank  you  for  an  honest  man,  worthy  of  Devon  — 
the  best  county  in  our  England,  the  best  people  — " 

"They  have  not  treated  you  and  your  trade  over 
well,"  dryly  remarked  the  skipper. 

"  They  are  blinded  by  prejudice  and  have  been  evilly 

346 


An  Egremont  Returned 

taught  things  about  us  which  are  not  true ;  but  we 
English  in  the  Society  of  Jesus  fight  for  the  privilege 
of  coming  here,  albeit  we  risk  our  necks  by  it ;  and  I 
tell  you,  my  friend,  though  I  be  glad  to  get  out  of 
England  now,  I  propose  to  return  some  day,  and  having 
escaped  with  my  life  once,  I  shall  make  that  a  claim 
to  come  again.  And  now  tell  me  the  mournful  story 
of  those  unhappy  gentlemen  who  died  under  the  hang- 
man's hands  to-day." 

The  skipper  told  the  story  with  that  calm  brutality 
with  which  a  common  mind,  however  good,  relates 
horrors.  He  spared  not  one  detail  of  the  hanging  or 
quartering. 

"  There  was  much  murmuring  on  the  part  of  the 
crowd,  and  it  was  openly  said  that  the  reason  the  King 
is  so  hot  after  Sir  John  Fenwick,  who  is  not  yet  appre- 
hended, and  for  whose  conviction  the  whole  power  of 
the  crown  was  used,  when  it  was  found  impossible  to 
convict  him  under  the  law,  is  because  Sir  John  laughed 
at  the  King's  being  beaten  by  the  old  hunchback,  as  he 
called  Marshal  Luxembourg,  in  the  Low  Counties.  The 
gentlemen  who  suffered  to-day  all  died  bravely,  and  called 
the  people  to  witness  that  they  died  for  their  King." 

Dicky  remained  silent  for  some  time,  and  then,  rising, 
said. 

"  I  must  have  a  last  glimpse  of  my  country.  Though 
she  drives  me  away  from  her,  like  a  cruel  mother,  yet 
will  I  love  her,  —  and  will  take  no  other  for  a  step- 
mother." 

He  went  on  deck,  and  remained  as  long  as  he  could 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  shadowy  shores,  past  which  they 
glided.  Then,  kneeling  down,  he  prayed  earnestly  for 
his  country,  and  a  part  of  his  prayer  was  that  he  might 
soon  return. 

347 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Within  two  days  they  made  Antwerp.  Dicky  was 
not  suffered  to  land  without  money,  and  when  the  skip- 
per pressed  half  a  dozen  gold  pieces  upon  him,  Dicky, 
with  that  strange  loyalty  which  an  exile  always  feels 
for  the  land  from  which  he  has  been  driven  forth,  said, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  — 

"  There  are  not  in  the  world  such  good  hearts  and 
open  purses  as  in  Devonshire." 

One  afternoon,  about  a  month  afterward,  Bess  Lukens 
determined  to  hire  a  coach,  and  take  the  air.  Not  that 
she  had  ever  learned  to  enjoy  herself  in  a  coach,  or  that 
the  motion  ever  failed  to  turn  her  brilliant  complexion 
into  a  sickly  green,  and  to  make  her  feel  a  horrible 
coach-sickness  which  is  only  a  trifle  less  than  seasick- 
ness. But  she  considered  it  due  to  her  altered  position, 
she  being  now  a  regularly  engaged  singer  at  the  King's 
Opera,  under  the  Abb^  d' Albret ;  and  also  as  a  mark  of 
respectability,  as  well  as  prosperity.  Her  old  friend 
Mamma  Mazet,  now  grown  very  feeble,  was  asked  to 
accompany  her,  but  the  old  lady  having  declined,  Bess, 
set  forth  alone  in  the  coach ;  she  wore  a  silk  sack,  and  a 
hat  with  feathers  in  it.  She  drove  out  of  Paris,  and  for 
a  mile  or  two  along  that  beautifully  paved  road  which 
led  to  Versailles.  There  was  sure  to  be  much  good 
company  seen  on  this  road,  and  on  this  joyous  May 
afternoon  there  were  coaches,  chaises,  and  cavaliers  in 
plenty.  Bess  had  some  acquaintances  in  this  gay 
throng.  Her  beauty  and  her  voice  had  made  her  well 
known  in  that  idle  society,  which  concerned  itself 
chiefly  with  personal  affairs.  But  the  reputation  she 
had  acquired  and  which  she  carefully  fostered  of  never 
having  a  civil  word  in  return  for  a  compliment  from  a 
gentleman,  kept  her   from   being   over   popular.     The 

348 


An  Egremont  Returned 

afternoon  was  bright  and  balmy,  and  the  motion  of  the 
coach  affecting  her  less  than  usual,  she  remained  out 
until  nearly  sunset.  Returning  by  way  of  the  unfinished 
gate  of  St.  Martin,  she  caught  sight  of  a  familiar  figure 
sitting  on  a  pile  of  rubbish  left  by  the  builders.  It  was 
Richard  Egremont,  — but  looking  so  ill  that  Bess  was 
alarmed  when  she  saw  him.  His  usually  round,  fresh 
face  was  haggard,  and  his  short  and  somewhat  stocky 
figure  was  but  skin  and  bone.  When  Bess  saw  him 
she  stopped  the  coach,  and  called  out  to  him  joyfully. 
Dicky,  however,  made  no  reply,  but  looked  at  her  with 
strange,  lack-lustre  eyes.  Bess,  jumping  out  of  the 
coach,  went  up  to  him  and  caught  his  hand,  —  it  was 
burning  with  fever. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Egremont !  "  she  cried ;  "  how  glad  I  am 
to  see  you  back  again,  and  alive  !  We  were  in  great 
misery  here  for  some  weeks,  knowing  you  to  have  been 
caught,  and  thinking  you  would  be  hanged.  But  the 
good  God  saved  your  life." 

"  I  think,"  said  Dicky,  with  a  look  of  wandering  in 
his  eyes,  "  that  I  did  wrong  to  return.  I  am  going  back 
to  England  to-morrow.  I  was  very  well  treated  while 
I  was  there,  —  not  in  prison  a  day  —  not  a  day.  If  I 
had  but  my  fiddle  now  —  " 

Bess  looked  at  him  hard,  then  catching  him  by  his 
arm  proceeded  to  drag  him  toward  the  coach. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  ?  "  feebly  asked 
Dicky. 

"  Take  you  home,  put  you  to  bed,  and  send  for  an 
apothecary,"  replied  Bess,  literally  shoving  him  into  the 
coach. 

"  But  —  but  — my  superiors  —  "  he  faltered  vaguely ; 
to  which  Bess  made  a  brief  and  comprehensive 
reply. 

849 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"  Drat  your  superiors  !  "  she  said.  "  Drive  home, 
coachman,  as  quickly  as  you  can." 

Bess  was  as  good  as  her  word.  Papa  Mazet  was  not 
at  home,  but  Mamma  Mazet  assisted  Bess  in  undressing 
Dicky  and  putting  him  to  bed ;  and  when  the  apothe- 
cary came,  he  looked  very  solemn  indeed,  and  said  that 
the  young  gentleman  might  recover,  and  he  might  not. 
And  this  he  said  every  day  for  six  weeks,  when  Dicky 
lay  raving  with  fever,  or  stupid  from  its  effects. 

On  a  certain  calm,  bright  June  morning  he  waked 
up  quite  himself.  The  birds  were  singing  in  the  trees, 
in  the  old  garden  back  of  the  house,  on  which  his  win- 
dows opened.  He  thought  at  first  they  were  singing 
"  Les  Folies  en  Espagne,"  but  presently  perceived  they 
were  not.  And  by  his  bedside  sat  Bess  Lukens,  as  fresh 
as  a  rose ;  toil  and  sleeplessness  left  no  mark  upon  her 
strong  frame.  Dicky,  gathering  his  wits  together,  and 
surmising  all  that  had  happened  since  that  faint  remem- 
brance of  Bess  carrying  him  off  by  force,  said,  in  a  weak 
voice,  but  oh,  how  full  of  gratitude  and  affection,  — 

"  Bess  Lukens,  how  good  art  thou  to  me  —  and  to  all 
the  Egremonts  !  God  bless  thee ! " 

He  had  never  called  her  Bess  before,  and  his  simple 
words  went  to  the  very  heart  of  her.  That  she.  Red 
Bess,  the  gaoler's  girl,  should  have  the  proud  Egremonts 
acknowledge  her  goodness  to  them !  It  pleased  her 
honest  and  simple  heart  more  than  any  praise  on  earth, 
except  —  well,  Roger's  was  always  excepted.  So  she 
answered,  patting  his  thin  hand,  and  calling  him  Dicky 
for  the  first  time,  — 

"  Thou  art  a  good  lad,  Dicky  Egremont ;  I  care  not  if 
thou  art  a  popish  priest,"  —  at  which  Dicky  laughed 
feebly,  —  "  and  I  hope  you  will  have  sense  enough  to 
keep  out  of  England,  where  you  will  surely  be  hanged 

350 


An  Egremont  Returned 

if  you  venture  again."     A  gleam  of  light  appeared  in 
Dicky's  sunken  eyes. 

"  I  shall  return  to  England  as  soon  as  I  am  allowed," 
he  said ;  "  and  as  for  hanging  —  't  is  not  a  painful  death, 
I  believe.  An  English  hangman  is  sure  to  do  the  job 
properly." 


861 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ONCE  MORE  IN  THE  SALOON  OF  THE  SWANS 

ROGER  EGREMONT  had  by  1698  acquired  a 
presentiment  that  by  the  sword  alone  should 
he  prosper.  At  the  peace,  in  1697,  he  was  more  fortu- 
nate than  those  deserving  men  who  found  themselves 
shut  out  of  the  reduced  military  establishment,  and 
forced  to  accept  that  dole  of  five,  ten,  or  twenty  pistoles 
which  poor  James  Stuart,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  gave 
to  them  wrapped  in  small  pieces  of  paper,  as  he  sat  in 
his  closet  at  St,  Germains,  Under  the  reorganization, 
Berwick  was  given  a  regiment  of  foot,  made  out  of  the 
Irish  brigade,  and  in  this  regiment  was  Roger  Egremont, 
reduced,  however,  from  major,  in  the  war  establish- 
ment, to  captain  again.  In  two  years  he  had  not  once 
seen  Berwick.  Roger  had  been  with  his  regiment  in 
Flanders,  not  caring  again  to  revisit  France.  He  had 
heard,  however,  several  times  from  Berwick,  now  a  sober 
married  man ;  brief,  naive  letters,  earnest  in  friendship, 
and  unconsciously  betraying,  what  his  world  already 
knew,  that  in  the  society  of  the  beautiful,  kind,  grace- 
ful, and  charming  Honora  de  Burgh,  Berwick's  noble 
and  tender  heart  had  found  perfect  happiness.  He  had 
a  son,  —  a  boy,  beautiful  like  his  mother.  Then  Roger 
heard,  through  others,  that  this  sweet  wife  of  Berwick's 
was  fading  away  in  consumption ;  and  in  the  winter 
of  1698  she  breathed  her  last. 

352 


In  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans 

Within  a  month  Roger  received  a  letter  from  Ber- 
wick.    It  read :  — 

"  You  have  doubtless  heard,  my  friend,  of  the  death  of 
my  wife.  I  will  say  nothing  on  that  subject.  You  have 
seen  her,  and  you  know  my  heart.  I  intend  to  travel  as 
soon  as  the  spring  opens.  Will  you  go  with  me  ?  I  know 
of  no  one  else  whose  company  would  be  so  acceptable. 
Take  advantage  of  the  present  peace  ;  no  one  can  tell  how 
long  it  will  last.  We  shall  not  be  called  upon,  I  think,  to 
fight  again  for  James  II. ;  our  next  fighting  will  be  for 
James  III.     I  reckon  upon  your  coming  with  me." 

Roger  was  at  Compifegne  when  he  got  this  letter. 
He  replied  at  once,  agreeing  to  it.  His  leave  was  ar- 
ranged without  trouble,  and  in  March  he  found  himself 
at  St.  Germains,  to  meet  Berwick,  and  to  pay  his  respects 
to  his  King  and  Queen. 

St.  Germains  was  always  a  haunted  place  to  him. 
He  had  not  heard  one  word  direct  from  Michelle  since 
the  day,  five  years  before,  that  he  had  parted  from  her. 
He  dared  not  ask.  But  not  for  one  day  in  those  five 
years  had  she  been  absent  wholly  from  his  mind.  The 
beauty  of  her  eyes,  the  faint  perfume  of  her  hair,  was 
ever  present  to  him.  He  had  not  one  single  memorial 
of  her  —  he  needed  none.  He  had  however,  his  little 
bag  of  earth  from  Egremont;  and  still  slept  with  it 
under  his  pillow. 

He  found  Berwick  but  little  changed  outwardly.  He 
had  ever  been  a  sedate  man,  but  with  a  quiet  fund  of 
bonhomie.  Now,  however,  under  that  calm  and  com- 
posed exterior,  Roger  saw  in  him  a  grief  so  deep,  so 
unspoken,  that  it  must  have  changed  the  whole  man. 
Berwick's  brief  and  fleeting  time  of  happiness  had  been 
overclouded  by  the  apprehension  that  Honora  de 
23  353 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Burgh's  sweet  spirit  was  not  long  for  this  world ;  and 
when  she  was  called  away,  in  the  springtime  of  her 
youth,  he  felt  as  if  so  sweet  and  delicate  a  flower  was 
not  fitted  to  withstand  the  chilling  blasts  of  this  life. 
He  spoke  of  her  occasionally  to  Roger,  and  often  of  the 
beautiful  boy,  like  —  too  like  —  hei-self ,  which  she  had 
left  him ;  and  Roger  came  to  love  and  respect  Berwick 
the  more,  from  the  deep  and  manly  Christianity  with 
which  he  bore  this  dreadful  sorrow.  This  time  Roger 
was  lodged  in  the  palace  close  to  Berwick's  apartments. 
The  glory  of  the  inn  of  Michot  had  departed.  The 
crowd  of  brave  and  merry  gentlemen  who  had  thronged 
the  little  town  five  and  six  years  before,  and  who  had 
regarded  St.  Germains  as  a  place  of  temporary  retire- 
ment, were  gone  —  many  of  them  to  the  country  from 
which  there  is  no  return.  The  others  were  chiefly,  like 
Roger  Egremont,  grown  hardy  soldiers,  living  honorably 
upon  scanty  pay. 

Roger  had  three  things  to  do :  first,  to  provide  himself 
with  a  horse,  for  Merrylegs,  after  having  carried  him 
through  five  campaigns,  was  now  to  be  honorably  re- 
tired. Roger  bestowed  him  upon  Madame  Michot,  to 
draw  the  weekly  cart  to  and  from  Paris,  he  being  yet 
fitted  for  such  light  work.  The  second  was,  to  see 
Dicky ;  and  the  third,  to  see  Bess  Lukens. 

He  heard  of  Bess  at  St.  Germains  before  he  saw  her. 
Bess  was  making  a  great  noise  in  the  world  in  more 
ways  than  one.  As  a  regular  singer  in  the  King's 
Opera,  she  was  supposed  to  be  under  the  tutelage  of  the 
Abbd  d'Albret,  conductor  of  the  music.  Bess,  however, 
who  was  as  hard  to  govern  as  most  prime  donne^  refused 
to  submit  as  absolutely  as  she  should  have  done  to  the 
Abb^,  and  still  clung  to  the  methods  of  Papa  Mazet, 
whose  house  she  declined  to  leave.     The  Abb^  and  her- 

354 


In  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans 

self  had  words,  and  Bess  in  a  rage,  called  him  "  a  pop- 
ish liar  and  meddler."  There  was  but  one  thing  to  do 
for  this :  Mademoiselle  Luccheni  was  retired  from  the 
Opera  until  she  should  learn  to  acquiesce  in  discipline. 
The  King,  however,  noting  her  absence,  sent  for  the 
Abb^,  and  desired  that  Mademoiselle  Luccheni  be  at 
once  reinstated.  His  Majesty  went  so  far  as  to  say 
there  was  not  in  Paris  such  another  voice  as  Mademoi- 
selle Luccheni's.  The  Abbd,  raging  but  helpless,  went 
to  Bess  and  proposed  an  armistice.  Bess,  to  whom  it 
had  been  conveyed  that  the  King  desired  her  return, 
coolly  declined  any  terms  short  of  absolute  surrender. 
The  Abb^  was  forced  to  capitulate.  Things  went  on 
harmoniously  for  about  a  fortnight.  Then  the  Abb^, 
giving  a  musical  party  at  his  house,  at  which  Monseig- 
neur  deigned  to  signify  he  would  attend,  rashly  promised, 
without  consulting  Bess,  that  she  would  sing.  Bess, 
on  hearing  this,  betook  herself  to  St.  Germains,  alleging 
that  she  had  been  asked  to  sing  at  the  chateau,  and  the 
commands  of  her  own  King  and  Queen  must  ever  take 
precedence.  This  producing  a  great  commotion,  the 
English  Queen  felt  herself  called  upon  to  write  a  letter 
to  Monseigneur,  saying  that  Miss  Luccheni  had  mis- 
underatood  things.  Her  invitation  turned  out  to  have 
come  from  the  ten-year-old  Prince  of  Wales,  who, 
meeting  her  in  the  forest,  recognized  her,  and  asked  her 
to  sing  to  him  then  and  there.  Bess  was  delighted  to 
sing  for  him,  and  so  charmed  the  lad  that  he  invited 
her  to  come  to  the  chateau  the  next  Sunday,  and  sing 
for  his  father  and  mother.  This,  Bess  stoutly  declared, 
she  considered  a  command,  as  coming  from  her  Prince. 
Several  dozens  of  eminent  persons,  including  the  Kings 
of  France  and  England,  the  Dauphin  and  the  Archbishop 
of  Paris,  became  mixed  up  in  the  affair.     It  was  very 

355 


The  House  of  Egremont 

exciting,  and  eclipsed  in  interest  the  news  from  Spain. 
Bess  Lukens  was  the  only  person  involved  in  the  matter 
who  thoroughly  enjoyed  it.  All  this,  Roger  had  heard  at 
St.  Germains,  and  it  lost  nothing  in  the  telling  when 
Bess,  with  glowing  cheeks  and  bright  eyes,  recounted  it 
again  to  him  at  Paris.  A  born  comic  actress,  she 
brought  out  all  the  absurdities  in  the  matter,  mimicking 
the  furious  little  Abb^  to  the  life,  and  even  repeating 
the  King's  own  words,  and  the  King's  own  walk  as  he 
strutted  up  and  down  the  Orangerie  at  the  Petit  Trianon, 
and  Madame  de  Maintenon's  pious  exhortations. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Bess,  coolly,  in  conclusion,  as  she 
plumped  herself  down  in  a  chair,  "  that  old  ape  of  a 
popish  Abbe  is  right,  —  excuse  me,  Roger ;  I  forgot  for 
the  moment  you  were  a  papist  yourself.  Papa  Mazet  is 
too  old,  and  his  methods  are  not  those  of  this  age,  and 
he  can't  teach  as  well  as  the  people  the  Abbe  employs. 
But  an't  that  the  more  reason  why  I  should  swear  that 
Papa  Mazet  is  just  as  capable  as  ever  he  was,  and  is  to- 
day the  best  teacher  in  Paris  ?  Did  n't  I  tell  that  old 
monkey  of  an  Abb^  that  Papa  Mazet  could  walk  ten 
miles,  ride  twenty,  and  go  thirty  in  a  coach,  just  as  well 
as  ever  he  could,  when  the  poor,  dear  man  can  barely  go 
twice  round  the  garden,  with  his  stick  and  my  arm  to 
help  him  ?  I  hope  I  am  an  honest  woman,"  declared 
Bess,  with  an  air  of  extreme  virtue,  "  and  I  mean  to 
stand  by  Papa  Mazet  if  I  lose  my  place  in  the  Opera 
for  it." 

Roger  laughed  as  he  had  not  done  for  years,  so 
heartily ;  and  then,  both  of  them  growing  sober,  they 
studied  each  other  furtively,  to  see  such  marks  as  Time 
might  leave.  Roger  Egremont  was  now  thirty-two 
years  old.  His  complexion  had  grown  dark  and  weather- 
beaten  during  his  years  of  campaigning.     He  had  lost, 

356 


In  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans 

as  men  do,  that  gayety  of  heart  which  shines  through 
the  eyes,  and  his  curling  brown  hair,  which  he  still  wore 
upon  his  shoulders,  now  more  from  habit  than  vanity, 
had  some  silver  threads  in  it.  But  he  looked  a  soldier, 
straight  of  figure  and  direct  of  glance.  Bess  thought 
him  more  nearly  handsome  than  ever  in  his  life.  His 
tender  friendship  to  her  showed  no  abatement.  As  for 
that  other  woman,  some  woman's  instinct  as  true  as 
truth  told  Bess  Lukens  that  Roger  Egremont  had  loved 
Michelle  well,  and  could  never  forget  her.  Bess  would 
rather  have  had  it  so.  She  shrank  from  the  thought 
that  he  should  be  any  woman's  successful  lover.  As 
for  Roger,  he  never  saw  Bess  without  an  increase  of 
admiration  for  her.  She  improved  year  by  year,  in  a 
certain  dignity  of  appearance  and  manners.  She  would 
never  dream  now  of  putting  on  man's  apparel  to  dis- 
guise herself  for  travelling.  She  was  now  fully  able  to 
command  respect  for  herself  in  her  own  proper  person. 
Her  beauty  seemed  to  grow  in  perfection,  for  in  place 
of  that  rosy  flush  of  girlhood  her  features  had  acquired 
greater  delicacy,  which  comported  well  with  her  softer 
manners.  She  was  now  in  her  twenty-eighth  year,  but 
she  showed  the  flight  of  time  less  than  Roger. 

"  And  so  you  took  care  of  my  cousin  Dicky  when  he 
was  so  ill  on  his  return  from  England  two  years  ago. 
Truly,  we  must  stop  calling  him  Dicky,  and  say  Father 
Egremont,"  said  Roger. 

"  He  will  be  Dicky  Egremont  as  long  as  he  lives," 
replied  Bess,  smiling ;  "  he  never  can  be  rid  of  that  boy- 
ishness which  makes  us  all  love  him.  Have  you  seen 
him  yet?  " 

"  I  go  to  see  him  from  here.  He  is  not  free  to  see 
visitors  until  the  afternoon." 

"  Oh,  yes.  Those  everlasting  superiors  of  his ! 
357 


The  House  of  Egremont 

They  would  have  fetched  him  away  before  he  was  half 
well,  but  I  went  out  to  St.  Germains  and  got  some  gen- 
tlemen there  to  persuade  them  to  let  him  stay  with  us 
until  he  got  his  strength  back  —  as  the  apothecary  too 
said  he  should.  Just  as  he  was  able  to  play  the  violin 
and  we  could  have  some  sweet  music,  a  couple  of  old 
black  gowns  —  popish  priests,  I  mean  —  came  and  took 
him  off.  He  pretended  he  was  glad  to  go,  but  he 
always  wants  to  go  where  he  thinks  it  is  most  likely  to 
be  disagreeable  for  him." 

"  That  is  not  much  the  way  of  the  Egremonts,"  said 
Roger,  laughing ;  "  but  Dicky  is  a  soldier  under  orders, 
and  he  does  well  not  to  shirk  them." 

When  he  was  rising  to  go,  Roger  asked  a  question 
which  brought  a  deep  blush  to  Bess's  cheek. 

"  Well,  Bess,  when  shall  I  be  called  upon  to  give  you 
away  at  your  wedding  ?  —  for  I  will  by  no  means  allow 
Papa  Mazet  that  privilege." 

"  Never,  Mr.  Roger.  I  am  well  enough  off  as  I  am. 
I  have  no  taste  for  marrying  in  my  own  class,  and  no 
ambition  to  marry  above  me,  and  be  flouted  by  the  man 
I  marry.  Besides,  I  have  to  take  care  of  the  Mazets, 
who  made  me,  such  as  I  am ;  and  when  they  are  gone 
I  shall  hope  to  find  some  other  old  people  or  orphan 
children  to  take  care  of ;  so,  Bess  Lukens  was  I  born, 
and  Bess  Lukens  will  I  die. 

And,  strange  to  say,  Roger  believed  her,  although  it 
is  difficult  for  any  man  to  persuade  himself  that  any 
woman  can  really  live  and  die  happy  and  unmarried. 

Then  he  went  to  the  Jesuits  to  see  Dicky,  Dicky 
had  not  changed  in  the  least,  and  the  two  cousins  walked 
up  and  down  the  garden  of  the  Jesuits'  house,  and 
talked  as  if  they  had  never  been  parted  a  day  since  they 
left  Egremont.     Dicky  had  much  to  tell  of  that  brief 

358 


In  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans 

and  tragic  visit  to  England.  "  And  I  saw  Egremont, 
Roger ;  I  went  by  night.  It  looked  prosperous,  —  the 
farms  well  tilled,  the  park  in  good  order,  the  dun  deer 
more  abundant  than  I  had  ever  known  them.  But  —  but 
every  oak  tree  on  the  place  is  cut  down.  I  was  told 
that  Hugo  made  near  eight  thousand  pounds  by  the 
sale  of  this  timber  alone." 

Roger  ground  his  teeth.  Those  oaks,  every  one  of 
which  was  fit  to  be  the  mainmast  of  a  man-of-war !  It 
had  been  his  dream  to  make  his  King  a  present,  worthy  of 
a  king  to  give,  as  well  as  receive,  of  those  miles  of 
sturdy  oaks,  that  were  indeed  too  noble  for  any  use  but 
that  of  the  masts  and  spars  of  fighting-ships.  Dicky, 
seeing  Roger  was  troubled  by  this,  continued : 

"I  heard  that  Hugo  tried  to  turn  such  of  the  estate 
as  he  could  into  ready  money ;  he  acts  as  if  he  doubted 
that  it  would  always  be  his.  But  he  could  find  no  one 
to  take  the  land,  and  for  very  shame  he  cannot  sell 
the  jewels  and  pictures.  His  foreign  blood  comes  out 
more  and  more  every  day,  the  people  told  me ;  and  he  is 
now  seeking  a  foreign  appointment,  as  minister  of 
William  of  Orange,  and  as  he  has  been  steadfast  in  the 
Orange  interest,  't  is  veiy  likely  he  will  get  what  he 
wants." 

"  God  reward  him !  "  was  Roger's  comment ;  and  the 
kind  of  reward  this  might  reasonably  be  expected  to  be 
was  easily  inferred. 

"  And,  Roger,"  said  Dicky  again,  after  a  moment,  "  it 
will  not  be  long  before  I  see  Egremont  again.  I  have 
had  the  promise,  ever  since  I  came  back,  that  at  the  next 
vacancy  for  England,  I  am  to  be  sent.  For  there  are  so 
many  young  men,  of  the  best  blood  of  England,  whose 
heart's  desire  it  is  to  lead  the  forlorn  hope  of  the 
Society  of  Jesus  in  our  native  country,  that  we  have  to 

359 


The  House  of  Egremont 

make  applications  far  in  advance.  I  have  been  waiting 
to  go  ever  since  I  recovered  from  my  illness.  When 
one  of  our  fathers  is  imprisoned,  or  sent  out  of  the 
country,  or  there  is  a  request  for  one,  there  are  ten  men, 
each  begging  that  he  may  be  sent;  but  the  next  call 
it  is  my  turn  to  answer,  —  and  I  am  the  envy  of  all  my 
English  brethren  here,  and  at  Louvain,  and  St.  Omer's, 
and  Clermont." 

"  And  you  under  sentence  of  death  if  you  set  foot 
in  England !  "  cried  Roger,  excitedly.  "  It  is  not  right; 
it  is  not  right  —  and  I  shall  protest  to  your  superiors, 
—  nay,  I  will  go  to  the  King  himself." 

"  Tush,  Roger.  What  did  I  join  the  Society  for  ? 
To  sit  here,  safe  at  Paris,  while  better  men  risk  their 
lives  and  liberty  in  England,  in  North  America,  all  over 
the  world  ?  No,  I  too  am  a  soldier  and  I  claim  the 
post  of  danger.  Would  you  have  an  Egremont  do 
otherwise  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  you  are  under  the  death  sentence  —  " 

"  You  should  hear  of  the  sufferings  of  our  fathers  in 
North  America.  A  plain  English  hanging  would  be 
merciful  to  many  of  them.  Besides,  when  every  Eng- 
lish Jesuit  is  on  record  as  applying  for  duty  in  England, 
would  you  have  had  me,  Richard  Egremont,  hold 
back?" 

Roger  hesitated  a  moment,  then,  throwing  his  arms 
around  Dicky  as  when  they  were  little  boys,  he  cried  : 

"  No,  my  lad.  I  would  not  have  thee  to  hold  back. 
God  guard  thee  well  —  for  a  brave  youngster." 

The  sun  was  near  setting,  and  the  yellowing  light 
shone  on  the  solemn  yews  and  clipped  cedars  of  the  gar- 
den. A  bell  began  to  toll  inside ;  it  was  time  to  part. 
The  two  young  men  walked  hurriedly  to  the  solid  iron 
gate  in  the  wall,  and  stood  for  a  moment,  with   their 

360 


In  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans 

hands  clasped,  and  each  with  a  hand  on  the  other's 
shoulder. 

"  Good-bye,  dear  Roger,"  said  Dicky.  "  If  we  should 
never  meet  on  this  side  of  Death,  know  that  I  ever 
loved  you  better  than  anybody  in  the  world,  and 
esteemed  you  more  than  any  man  I  ever  knew.  And 
if  you  should  hear  of  me  as  dying  on  the  scaffold  in 
England,  remember,  my  last  thought,  my  last  prayer 
will  be  for  you." 

Roger  stood  silent.  Some  inner  voice  spoke  with  the 
clearness  and  certaintj^  of  the  bell  which  continued  its 
melancholy  tolling  through  the  mild  spring  air.  And 
the  bell  was  saying,  "  Farewell,  farewell."  Roger's  eyes 
were  moist,  but  Dicky's  sparkling  blue  ones  were  filled 
with  a  calm  and  happy  light;  the  warrior  soul  of  him 
was  not  to  be  alarmed  at  the  scaffold,  the  executioner, 
the  knife.     He  pressed  Roger  in  his  arms. 

"Good-bye,  dear  Roger,  good-bye,"  he  cried  again, 
and  then  turning  ran  back  through  the  garden  toward 
the  house.  Roger  walked  along  the  dark,  narrow  street 
in  the  spring  twilight.  The  bell  was  still  tolling  sol- 
emnly.    It  was  still  saying  "  Farewell." 

He  went  to  his  inn,  got  his  horse,  the  third  Merry- 
legs,  and  rode  back  to  St.  Germains  at  a  sharp  gait. 
He  roused  himself  somewhat  from  his  depression,  but  a 
conviction  settled  upon  his  soul  that  he  should  never 
again  see  Dicky  Egremont. 

Next  morning  he  got  a  message  early  from  Berwick : 
"  Be  prepared  to  start  within  twenty-four  hours." 

There  was,  then,  but  a  day  before  him.  He  had  not 
yet  been  to  see  Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  Roger  mean- 
ing every  day  to  go,  but  putting  it  off  as  men  do 
unpleasant  things.  But  that  was  his  last  chance. 
Moreover,  Francois  Delaunay,  who  had  been  absent  for 

361 


The  House  of  Egremont 

a  time,  returned  and  came  to  the  castle  to  see  him,  and 
to  bring  him  a  reproachful  message  from  the  old 
Duchess. 

Francois  was  the  same  Francois  —  good-hearted, 
timid,  and  still  unsuccessfully  attempting  a  rakish  air 
and  swashbuckler  manner. 

"  The  Duchess  is  still  the  same,"  he  confided  plain- 
tively to  Roger,  as  the  two  walked  up  and  down  the 
terrace  in  the  March  sunshine.  "  God  never  made  but 
one  such  woman,  I  think." 

•  "  At  least  she  has  not  a  bad  heart,"  replied  Roger, 
consolingly,  but  laughing  at  the  same  time. 

"  N  —  n  —  no,"  dubiously  assented  Francois ;  "  but  — 
think  of  a  woman  who  has  spent  ten  years  trying  to 
make  a  swashbuckler  out  of  me  !  " 

And  as  Frangois  tapped  himself  gloomily  on  the 
breast,  Roger  was  obliged  to  confess  to  himself  that 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir  had  set  herself  an  impossible 
task. 

In  the  afternoon  he  took  his  way  along  the  familiar 
road  to  the  avenue  of  the  chateau.  He  knew  every  step 
he  tifod.  Here  was  the  entrance  into  the  forest,  where 
the  French  King's  messenger  had  brought  the  letter  to 
Michelle  on  that  spring  morning,  just  five  years  ago 
almost  to  the  day.  There  was  that  woodland  path  from 
the  meadow,  where  he  and  Michelle  had  walked  hand 
in  hand,  a  shepherd  and  his  shepherdess,  on  that  Au- 
gust evening,  after  the  hay-making.  He  could  scarcely 
believe,  as  he  stepped  upon  the  marble  terrace  and 
entered  the  great  hall  of  the  chateau,  that  her  graceful 
figure  would  not  presently  appear,  and  that  he  should 
not  hear  her  charming  voice.  And  he  dared  not  let  his 
mind  dwell  on  her  state  at  that  moment. 

The   old  Duchess   received  him  in  her  large   salon. 

362 


In  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans 

She  was  scarcely  changed  at  all.  She  had  been  withered 
and  weazened  and  bright-eyed  six  years  before,  and  she 
was  still  withered  and  weazened  and  bright-eyed,  and 
she  still  wore  the  green  brocade  gown. 

"  At  last !  "  was  her  greeting ;  "  you  have  not  been 
near  me  in  five  years.  Such  is  the  way  of  men  though, 
—  a  little  love  when  we  are  young ;  no  woman  can 
hope  for  more." 

"  Madam,"  replied  Roger,  "  I  have  been  at  St.  Ger- 
mains  but  one  week  in  five  years,  until  I  came  four 
days  ago.  And  when  I  was  here  before  you  were 
absent." 

"True  enough.  But  why  have  you  so  avoided  the 
place  ? " 

"  Ask  a  soldier,  madam,  why  he  is  here,  or  why  he  is 
not  there  ?  " 

"  Tut,  tut.  You  had  some  reason  for  not  coming. 
Well,  I  can  hardly  blame  you.  Since  the  peace,  the 
poor  old  praying  King  has,  I  think,  given  up  hope  of 
ever  getting  back  to  England,  and  I  suppose  he  must 
have  asked  himself  every  day  since  '88  what  he  ran 
away  for.  And  I,  too,  have  well-nigh  abandoned  all 
hope  of  going  back,  and  shall  have  to  end  my  days  in  a 
foreign  country.  If  my  husband  had  died  but  a  year 
before  he  did,  I  should  have  been  back  and  settled  in 
England,  and  I  'd  like  to  see  any  Orange  prince  or  prin- 
cess that  would  have  turned  me  out ! " 

"  I  wish,  madam,  from  the  very  bottom  of  my  heart, 
that  your  spirit  had  animated  the  King.  But  I  ever 
thought  there  was  some  temporary  weakness  of  the 
mind  that  drove  him  to  act  so  strangely.  He,  one  of 
our  bravest  admirals,  —  whom  Mar^chal  Turenne  and 
the  Prince  of  Cond^  declared  to  be  more  insensible  of 
fear  than  any  man  they  had  ever  known  —  absolutely 

363 


The  House  of  Egremont 

ran  away  when  he  was  implored  but  to  remain,  and 
assured  that  all  the  fighting  should  be  done  for  him  ! 
Well,  that  is  all  over.  We  shall  have  our  chance, 
though,  with  James  III." 

"  You  will,  my  dear,  not  I.  Now  tell  me  of  your 
adventures,  for  I  hear  that  Berwick  praises  you  ex- 
tremely, and  you  have  won  promotion." 

The  old  lady,  being  very  pressing,  Roger  told  her 
such  of  his  adventures  as  he  thought  would  please  her, 
but  he  had  signal  unsuccess. 

"All  about  war,  in  which,  according  to  your  own 
account,  for  everything  you  did,  your  men  or  your  su- 
perior officers  deserved  the  credit ;  and  not  a  single 
love-affair!  Not  even  a  little  scrape  with  a  married 
woman !  Look  here.  Captain  Roger  Egremont,  I  once 
thought  you  fit  company  for  his  glorious  Majesty,  King 
Charles  the  Second ;  but  know  you,  I  now  esteem  you 
fitter  for  this  snivelling,  forgiving,  pious  old  figure  of  a 
King  we  have  at  the  palace  yonder.  I  shall  not  let 
Francois  Delaunay  associate  with  you ;  he  will  be  sure 
to  learn  some  goodness  or  godliness  of  you  that  will 
make  him  more  prudish  than  he  is.  I  am  very  much 
disappointed  in  you,  Roger  Egremont." 

"  Truly,  madam,  you  grieve  me.  But  if  I  have  had 
no  love  affairs,  consider,  I  have  had  but  little  money. 
So  long  as  my  father's  bastard  enjoys  my  estate,  so  long 
shall  I  be  a  poor  man.  I  am  like  some  of  the  other 
poor  and  virtuous  in  this  world,  —  virtuous  because  I 
am  poor." 

"  Francois  has  not  even  that  excuse.  But  you  have 
not  asked  me  one  word  about  my  niece,  the  Princess  of 
Orlamunde." 

Roger  felt  himself  grow  pale,  but  he  answered  readily : 

"  I  was  about  then  to  inquire  of  her  Highness." 
864 


In  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans 

"  Highness  fiddlestick !  Dearly  has  she  paid  for  that 
ridiculous  title  and  that  semi-royal  coronet  she  wears. 
Did  I  not  tell  you  and  Berwick  that  one  look  at  my 
cousin  of  Orlamunde  convinced  me  that  he  was  a  scoun- 
drel ?  And  I  do  not  think  ray  niece  a  woman  to  submit 
humbly  to  a  scoundrel.  She  made  some  spirited  at- 
tempts to  drive  out  the  men  and  women  rascals  and 
harpies  whom  the  Prince  had  collected  around  him ; 
but,  of  course,  she  failed.  Then,  instead  of  taking  to 
lap-dogs  or  devotion,  as  most  women  do,  my  lady  defi- 
antly leads  her  own  life ;  has  clever  men  about  her, 
when  she  can  get  them ;  has  learned  the  lesson  of  de- 
spising what  the  world  says,  —  a  dangerous,  dangerous 
lesson  for  any  woman  to  learn;  drives  her  husband 
wild  by  her  defiance  of  him,  and  then  laughs  at  him ;  in 
short,  acts  just  as  one  could  foresee  a  proud,  injured, 
fearless  woman  would.  I  fancy,  too,  her  health  is 
breaking  down  under  the  strain  of  misery.  In  one  thing 
alone  has  she  been  judicious ;  she  kept  the  French  King 
informed  of  exactly  how  Orlamunde  was  standing  to  his 
engagements  —  which  is  very  poorly  indeed  —  as  long  as 
she  could ;  and  but  for  her  Orlamunde  would  have 
sold  those  two  fortified  places  to  the  allies,  within  a  year 
from  the  time  he  guaranteed  them  to  Louis.  Even 
now  it  is  not  certain  that  the  French  guns  have  not 
been  sold  to  William  of  Orange,  —  twenty-four  bronze 
cannon,  so  I  have  heard.  Of  course,  this  only  makes 
Orlamunde  hate  her  the  more,  and  he  has  found  means 
to  stop  her  correspondence  with  France.  And  who, 
think  you,  is  the  precious  gentleman  through  whom 
Orlamunde  has  been  transacting  this  vile  business  with 
Dutch  William?  Your  bastard  brother,  Hugo  Stein  — 
who  is  the  English  diplomatic  agent  at  Orlamunde." 

Roger  had  been  getting  paler  and  paler  as  the  old 
86d 


The  House  of  Egremont 

lady  spoke,  her  dark  eyes  sparkling.  Now  he  flushed 
deeply. 

"  Yes,  Hugo  Egremont,  as  he  calls  himself,  is  Orla- 
munde's  alter  ego^  and  has  been,  almost  since  that  un- 
fortunate marriage.  It  was  he  who  was  after  the 
Prince  to  give  up  the  fortified  places,  —  and  it  is  he 
who  has  been  trying  to  persuade  the  Prince  to  sell  the 
bronze  guns,  and  he  may  have  succeeded.  He  seems  to 
have  plenty  of  money,  so  I  hear  —  got  from  his  estates 
in  England  —  " 

"  My  oak  timber !  "  burst  in  Roger,  thinking  of  the 
eight  thousand  pounds  of  which  Dicky  had  told  him. 

"  And  has  the  entire  confidence  of  his  government." 

"  He  was  ever  an  astute  scoundrel,"  again  broke  in 
Roger,  growing  a  deeper  and  darker  red. 

"  And  he  hates  Michelle,  and  she  hates  him.  And  he 
provides  the  Prince  with  money  —  scamps  need  a  deal 
more  than  honest  gentlemen.  And  it  is  not  likely  that 
the  English  and  Dutch  are  giving  him  money  for  noth- 
ing; so  I  am  mightily  afraid  the  twenty-four  guns  are 
gone." 

The  old  lady  talked  on  vivaciously,  and  Roger  heard 
every  word,  but  as  in  a  dream.  And  presently  he  rose 
to  go,  and  made  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  a  handsome 
compliment,  and  kissed  her  little  withered,  jewelled  hand, 
and  walked  back  to  the  palace,  by  way  of  the  terrace, 
still  like  a  man  in  a  dream. 

Michelle  ill,  wretched,  defiant,  badly  used,  —  poor, 
poor  unfortunate  !  The  knowledge  of  her  misery,  how- 
ever it  pierced  his  heart,  did  not  make  him  forget  that 
he  should  give  Berwick  the  information  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir  had  given  him  —  and  so  he  went  straight 
to  Berwick's  apartments  in  the  Palace  and  told  him. 

Berwick's    comment   on   the    Prince   of   Orlamunde 

366 


In  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans 

was  simple :  "  The  scoundrel !  "  Then  he  added  : 
"  I  was  going  to  Marly  to-night  to  say  farewell  to  the 
King  of  France,  and  I  will  go  at  once.  It  is  impor- 
tant that  he  should  know  of  Orlamunde's  treachery, 
if  it  has  really  occurred," 

And  in  ten  minutes  Roger  saw  him  start  off,  in  his 
black  riding-suit,  for  Marly. 

Before  night  he  returned.  Roger  was  walking  up 
and  down  the  courtyard  with  the  little  Prince  of  Wales, 
telling  him  stories  about  England,  while  the  boy's  gov- 
ernor, Lord  Middleton,  walked  on  the  other  side  of  the 
lad.  Berwick  rode  into  the  courtyard,  dismounted, 
threw  off  his  black  riding-cloak,  and  after  ceremoni- 
ously greeting  the  little  Prince  and  his  governor,  said 
to  Roger,  — 

"  We  ride  for  Orlamunde  to-morrow,  at  sunrise,  by 
order  of  the  King  of  France.  All,  and  more,  is  true, 
of  what  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  told  us.  And  the  man 
who  is  working  against  us,  the  man  who  is  the  agent 
of  William  of  Orange  at  Orlamunde,  the  man  we 
are  ordered  to  have  flung  out  of  that  wicked  place, 
wicked  as  its  rascal  Prince,  the  man  we  are  to  take  the 
vengeance  of  the  King  of  France  on,  —  is  Hugo  Stein, 
sometime  known  as  Sir  Hugo  Egremont,  of  Egremont." 

"  And  I  shall  take  my  private  vengeance  on  him," 
said  Roger,  in  a  quiet  voice,  but  his  comely  countenance 
growing  ugly,  in  the  way  Michelle  had  often  noticed 
when  wrath  possessed  him. 

And  at  sunrise  next  morning  they  took  the  road  to 
Meaux,  to  Epernay,  to  Chalons,  to  Vitry,  to  Bar,  and 
through  the  country  of  the  Vosges,  just  as  they  had 
done  five  years  before.  It  was  at  the  same  season  of 
the  year,  and  the  face  of  the  country  was  so  little 
changed  that  Roger  had  the  strange  feeling  of  having 

367 


The  House  of  Egremont 

made  the  journey,  not  once,  but  a  myriad  of  times  be- 
fore. He  could  see,  as  they  passed  along  the  highways, 
through  fields  and  forests,  and  past  towns  and  villages, 
Michelle's  airy  figure  on  her  horse ;  he  could  hear  her 
voice  as  plainly  as  if  she  were  speaking  then.  He  went 
into  the  great  cathedral  of  Meaux  and  knelt  in  the 
same  spot  where  he  had  knelt  with  her,  and  the  merry 
birds  sang  with  glee  under  the  eaves,  just  as  they  had 
done  on  that  morning  when  he  had  been  with  her  in  the 
church.  He  saw  the  old  castle  of  Vitry,  bathed  in  the 
spring  sunshine,  so  like  —  so  like  what  it  had  been  be- 
fore. When  they  entered  the  passes  of  the  mountains, 
Roger  determined  to  go  by  the  charcoal-burner's  hut. 
Berwick  asked  no  questions ;  he  knew  well  enough 
why  Roger  Egremont  should  go  over  every  step  of  that 
former  journey.  The  hut  was  gone,  the  place  desolate. 
Roger  dismounted,  while  Berwick,  with  his  two  ser- 
vants, rode  on.  In  half  an  hour  Roger  rejoined  him, 
and  spoke  not  a  word  until  they  reached  their  lodging 
for  the  night. 

So  much  was  the  same ;  and  yet  they,  Roger  Egre- 
mont and  the  Duke  of  Berwick,  were  changed  inex- 
pressibly. Each  had  known  a  grief  which  marks  an 
epoch  in  every  life ;  one  of  those  sorrows  which  wring 
the  heart  and  leave  a  blood  stain  on  the  book  of  life. 
They  spoke  little  of  this,  being  both  of  them  valiant 
men,  not  given  to  mouthing  their  misery  ;  but  this  sad, 
sad  change  was  ever  present  with  them. 

They  made  their  journey,  as  if  by  some  tacit  arrange- 
ment, exactly  as  they  had  made  it,  day  by  day,  five  years 
before ;  and  the  very  day,  five  years  before,  that  they 
had  entered  Orlamunde,  on  the  eve  of  the  anniversary 
of  Michelle's  marriage,  they  reached  the  little  capital 
and  put  up  at  an  inn. 

368 


In  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans 

"For  I  would  not  accept  even  a  lodging  from  the 
rascal  Prince,"  said  Berwick,  and  Roger  heartily  agreed 
with  him. 

In  the  evening,  though,  having  given  notice  of  their 
arrival  to  the  Prince,  they  must  appear  at  Monplaisir  at 
eight  o'clock.  All,  all  was  the  same.  The  straight, 
broad  avenue  of  clipped  trees,  the  fountains  of  the  dol- 
phins ever  playing,  the  statues,  the  marble  terrace,  the 
white  palace,  beautiful  in  the  evening  glow ;  a  deep 
blue  sky,  with  a  young  moon  and  a  single  blazing  star 
beside  her ;  and  the  same  mob  of  powdered  lackeys,  and 
the  same  miniature  state  as  of  five  years  before. 

The  Prince  received  them  in  that  noble  hall  where 
the  wedding  banquet  had  been  held.  He  was  yellower, 
sicklier,  wickeder,  more  dissipated-looking  than  before, 
which  is  saying  much.  He  was  attended  by  his  old 
chum.  Count  Bernstein,  and  a  new  one,  Baron  Reichen- 
bach,  who  seemed  a  bird  of  quite  the  same  feather ;  and 
there  were  other  gentlemen  present,  and  among  them,  — 
oh,  iniquity  of  iniquities  !  —  was  Hugo  Stein,  under  the 
name  and  title  of  Sir  Hugo  Egremont  of  Egremont,  in 
the  County  of  Devon,  England. 

He  had  ever  been  a  more  strictly  handsome  man  than 
his  half-brother ;  and  as  the  time  that  Roger  had  spent 
in  camps  Hugo  had  spent  at  courts,  so  was  Hugo  more 
delicately  skinned,  more  soft  and  supple,  than  Roger. 
And  he  was  magnificently  dressed,  wearing  a  superbly 
jewelled  dress-sword,  on  the  hilt  of  which  sparkled  an 
emerald  set  with  diamonds,  which  Roger  recognized  as 
having  once  belonged  to  his  own  mother,  and  he  also 
knew  nearly  every  other  jewel  in  the  hilt. 

It  was  the  bitterest  moment  in  Roger  Egremont's 
life  when  his  eye,  travelling  around  the  company,  fixed 
itself  on  Hugo ;  and  when  Hugo,  ever  adopting  an 
24  369 


The  House  of  Egremont 

attitude  of  conciliation,  advanced,  saying,  "Welcome, 
brother !  "  Roger  stood  like  a  statue  for  one  moment, 
and  then  advancing,  with  arms  outstretched  wide, 
cried,  — 

"  Welcome,  Hugo  Stein.  Never  was  I  so  glad  to  see 
you  before.  A  great,  a  glorious  thing  has  happened. 
We  have  come  here  to  notify  you  that  you  have  spent 
your  own  and  your  master's  money  in  vain.  And  like- 
wise to  make  it  so  hot  for  you  that  you  will  be  com- 
pelled to  leave  Orlamunde.  I  cannot  forbear  embracing 
you  in  my  joy."  And  seizing  Hugo  suddenly  about  the 
waist,  Roger  lifted  him  bodily  off  the  floor,  and  flung 
him  headlong  through  the  open  window.  And  as  Hugo 
went  tumbling  out,  head-foremost,  Roger  caught  him  by 
the  leg,  and  wrenched  the  dress-sword  from  about  him, 
then  dropped  him  on  to  the  flower-bed  below  the  palace 
window. 

Instantly  there  was  an  uproar.  The  Prince,  white 
with  rage,  turned  to  Roger  as  he  stood  smiling  and 
examining  the  hilt  of  Hugo's  sword. 

"  Sir,  you  forget  yourself  amazingly.  This  conduct 
cannot  be  tolerated." 

Roger  bowed  low,  still  smiling.  The  Prince,  then 
turning  to  Berwick,  said  in  a  voice  which  trembled  with 
excitement,  — 

"I  say,  my  Lord  Duke,  this  conduct  cannot  be  tol- 
erated in  my  presence." 

"  Yes,  your  Highness,"  replied  Berwick,  also  smiling. 
"  And  may  I  ask,  in  all  respect,  what  are  you  going  to 
do  about  it  ?  " 

Roger,  all  this  time,  was  breaking  off  the  hilt  of  the 
sword,  which  he  afterwards  threw  out  of  the  window 
after  its  late  master. 

The  Prince  hesitated  and  moved  uneasily  in  his  seat. 

870 


In  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans 

Berwick  stood,  calmly  regarding  him ;  Roger  continued 
to  examine  the  sword-hilt.  Count  Bernstein  stooped 
and  whispered  something  in  the  ear  of  the  Prince, 
who  spoke   after  a  moment. 

"  Count  Bernstein  tells  me  that  these  gentlemen  are 
half-brothers  and  there  is  feud  between  them.  Some 
allowance  can  be  made  for  Captain  Egremont's  feelings, 
if  he  will  apologize  for  his  unbecoming  conduct." 

"  To  whom  shall  he  apologize,  your  Highness?  "  asked 
Berwick. 

"  To  myself,  of  course." 

"  Then,  your  Highness,"  replied  Berwick,  with  much 
readiness,  "I  ask,  in  Captain  Egremont's  behalf,  a 
week  to  consider  your  proposition.  Meanwhile,  I  am 
the  bearer  of  an  autograph  letter  from  His  Most  Chris- 
tian Majesty,  which  I  shall  be  pleased  to  deliver  at  your 
Highness's   pleasure." 

No  man  who  ever  looked  into  the  eye  of  James  Fitz- 
james,  Duke  of  Berwick,  felt  like  defying  him,  certainly 
not  this  miserable  creature  of  Orlamunde.  So  the 
Prince  passed  over  the  circumstance,  resolving,  as  such 
beings  do,  to  take  secret  and  private  vengeance  on 
Roger  Egremont  before  he  left  Orlamunde. 

"  We  will  now  attend  the  ladies  in  the  saloon,"  said 
the  Prince ;  and  rising,  the  whole  company  marched 
into  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans.  The  great  saloon  was 
blazing  with  wax  lights,  and  over  the  mirrored  walls 
were  the  silver  swans  still  sailing,  sailing  nowhere. 
And  on  the  dais  at  the  upper  end  sat  Michelle  —  sat 
the  poor,  unhappy  Princess,  her  cheeks  wan  and  painted, 
her  glorious  eyes  full  of  mischief  and  melancholy,  her 
slender  figure  slenderer  than  ever,  —  a  picture  of  what 
misery  may  do  for  a  woman. 

Roger  advanced  with  Berwick  to  pay  her  his  respects, 

371 


The  House  of  Egremont 

and  the  sight  of  her,  and  the  touch  of  that  cold  little 
hand  put  all  thought  of  Hugo  Stein  out  of  his  mind. 
She  received  them  with  perfect  composure ;  she  had 
had  time  and  opportunity  to  learn  composure  under  dis- 
quieting circumstances  in  the  last  five  years.  When 
she  spoke,  her  voice  was  unchanged  in  its  thrilling 
sweetness ;  that  and  her  winning  smile  had  survived 
five  years  of  marriage  with  the  Prince  of  Orlamunde. 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  see  you  again,"  she  said,  looking 
into  Roger's  eyes ;  "  I  have  not  seen  a  friend  for  five 
years  past." 

All  around  her  heard  this  speech,  which  Roger  could 
not  but  think  imprudent. 

"  And,"  she  continued,  laughing  —  oh,  how  sad  it  was 
to  hear  her  laugh !  — "  you  are  unchanged,  a  violent 
and  turbulent  man  when  you  are  angered,  but  as  gentle 
as  a  dove  when  you  are  pleased.  I  thought  you  would 
not  sit  quiet  when  Hugo  Stein  was  at  hand." 

So,  already  the  news  had  flown  about  of  his  pitching 
Hugo  out  of  the  window.  Hugo  had  thought  it  wise 
to  depart,  particularly  as  he  had  lost  his  sword,  without 
which,  he  could  not,  according  to  etiquette,  appear  at 
the  levee. 

"  Madam,"  asked  Roger,  "  is  not  that  the  way  with 
most  men  in  the  presence  of  a  sworn  enemy  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  Princess,  looking  at  the  Prince 
who  was  standing  on  the  dais  close  by  her.  "  In  Orla- 
munde, for  example,  when  a  man  is  angry  with  his 
enemy,  be  it  man  or  woman,  he  watches  his  chance 
stealthily,  and  when  he  thinks  he  is  quite  safe,  he  deals 
a  poisoned  thrust." 

Roger  was  not  only  surprised  at  this  ill-timed  frank- 
ness, but  even  secretly  shocked.  Having  never  ex- 
ercised the  slightest  forbearance  in  his  life  toward  those 

372 


In  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans 

he  conceived  to  have  injured  him,  and  having  not  half 
an  hour  before  wreaked  his  vengeance  on  his  bastard 
brother  without  the  least  regard  to  time  or  place,  he 
was  confounded  that  a  woman  should  do  likewise.  But 
Michelle,  being  quick-witted,  saw  that  she  had  not 
pleased  him,  and  changed  her  manner  to  that  of  the 
most  caressing  softness.  And  listening  to  every  word 
were  Madame  Marochetti,  and  the  Countess  Bertha  von 
Kohler,  who  still  reigned  at  Orlamunde,  and  who  was 
first  lady-in-waiting  to  the  Princess,  much  to  Madame 
Marochetti's  annoyance. 

There  was  to  be  a  concert  presently,  and  in  a  little 
while  the  musicians  were  ordered  to  appear,  and  the 
company  seated  themselves.  A  tabouret  was  provided 
for  Berwick,  and  a  small  chair  for  Roger  Egremont ; 
but  Roger,  seeing  that  he  had  carried  things  with  a  high 
hand  in  the  beginning,  concluded  to  adopt  it  as  a 
regular  policy  while  at  Orlamunde.  Therefore,  saying 
to  the  Princess,  "  By  your  leave,  madam,"  and  receiv- 
ing a  nod  in  return,  he  seated  himself  quietly  on  the 
edge  of  the  dais.  Something  like  a  shiver  went  round. 
The  ladies  were  all  secretly  delighted  with  his  impu- 
dence, especially  his  old  acquaintance  Countess  von 
Roda,  who  was  quite  out  of  favor  and  had  turned  pious. 

The  music  began.  Every  man  has  it  in  him  to  do 
something  good,  even  Karl,  Prince  of  Orlamunde. 
What  was  good  in  him  was  the  capacity  for  art.  His 
palace  was  exquisite,  his  orchestra  was  perfect.  When 
the  violins  and  violoncello  and  flutes  breathed  forth  the 
divine  music  of  Gluck,  it  was  as  if  the  Saloon  of  the 
Swans  palpitated  with  delight,  so  delicious,  so  search- 
ing, so  heavenly  was  the  harmony.  Roger  listened, 
thinking  it  was  like  the  music  of  Paradise ;  and  when 
the  rapture  of  melody  had  lasted  some  time,  he  turned 

373 


The  House  of  Egremont 

to  look  into  Michelle's  eyes  and  saw  the  saddest  sight. 
She  was  leaning  back  in  her  stately  chair,  her  head 
resting  on  one  thin  hand  sparkling  with  jewels,  her  long 
lashes  on  her  cheek.  She  had  fallen  asleep  out  of  pure 
weakness  and  weariness,  in  the  midst  of  the  enchanting 
music,  with  all  those  hostile  eyes  upon  her.  Bertha 
von  Kohler  was  smiling  maliciously;  Madame  Maro- 
chetti  laughed  outright.  The  Prince,  turning  to  her, 
rudely  awakened  her.  Michelle  started,  looked  at  him 
with  hatred  in  her  face,  then  catching  sight  of  Berwick's 
kind  and  pitying  eyes  fixed  on  her,  smiled  softly. 
Roger's  heart  swelled  within  him.  To  this  sad  pass 
had  ambition  brought  a  woman  born  to  love  and  to  be 
loved. 


374 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IN  WHICH  CAPTAIN  ROGER  EGREMONT  ACTS  AS 
COACHMAN,  AND  LIEUTENANT-GENERAL  THE 
DUKE   OF   BERWICK   AS   FOOTMAN 

THAT  night,  returning  to  their  lodgings,  Berwick 
said  to  Roger  :  "  One  week  must  do  our  errand 
here,  for  we  have  but  a  week  in  which  to  consider  the 
apology  you  are  to  make  to  the  Prince." 

"  Only  a  week,"  said  Roger,  reflectively ;  "  I  am  not 
nimble  enough  of  wit  to  think  out  a  suitable  apology  in 
one  little  week  —  and  that  I  shall  tell  him." 

"  So  I  supposed." 

Next  morning  brought  Count  Bernstein,  very  early, 
to  the  joint  lodging  of  Berwick  and  Roger. 

"My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  debonairly,  when  Roger 
appeared  in  answer  to  the  Count's  name.  "  I  come 
from  Sir  Hugo  Egremont,  your  half-brother.  Naturally, 
he  is  annoyed  at  your  behavior  yesterday,  but  he  con- 
siders that  you  are  —  pardon  me  —  a  man  of  impetuous 
temper,  and  will  make  allowances.  If  you  will  deliver 
to  me  the  jewelled  handle  of  the  sword,  which,  in  your 
—  your  excitement  last  night,  you  wrenched  from  his 
person,  he  will  overlook  all  else.  I  am  authorized  to 
receipt  for  the  handle." 

"  My  dear  Bernstein,"  replied  Roger,  in  the  friend- 
liest way  possible,  "  you  have  been  grossly  imposed 
upon.     There  is  no  such  person  as  Sir  Hugo  Egremont. 

375 


The  House  of  Egremont 

He  who  assumes  that  name  and  the  arms  of  Egremont 
is  a  bastard,  by  name  Hugo  Stein.  My  father  was  his 
father  —  and  a  great  sinner  my  father  was." 

Bernstein  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"  And,"  continued  Roger,  as  Berwick  entered  the 
room  then  and  gravely  saluted  Bernstein,  "  I  can  call 
the  Duke  of  Berwick  to  witness  that  I  was  up  at  sunrise 
this  morning,  hammering  the  jewels,  which  are  mostly 
heirlooms  in  my  family,  out  of  Hugo  Stein's  sword-hilt. 
I  have  them  here  in  a  little  box  in  my  bosom,  and  the 
fragments  of  gold  I  saved  carefully  and  will  thank  you 
to  return  to  Hugo  Stein  with  my  compliments." 

And  he  thrust  a  little  parcel  into  Bernstein's  hands. 

Bernstein,  in  a  rage,  turned  to  Berwick. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  the  Prince  of  Orlamunde  will  take 
cognizance  of  this  affair.  Your  friend  and  prot^g^  must 
submit  to  the  authority  of  his  Highness." 

"  Alas,  Bernstein,"  replied  Berwick,  "  I  cannot  answer 
for  Mr.  Egremont  submitting  to  the  authority  of  the 
Prince  of  Orlamunde.  William,  Prince  of  Orange, 
Stadtholder  of  Holland,  and  de  facto  King  of  England,  a 
great  prince,  although  a  usurper,  could  not  bring  Mr. 
Egremont  to  submission,  and  how  does  the  Prince  of 
Orlamunde  compare  with  William  of  Orange  ? " 

Bernstein  rose,  speechless  with  anger.  Berwick  and 
Roger  accompanied  him  ceremoniously  to  the  head  of 
the  stairs,  Berwick  saying,  "  We  shall  hope  to  see  you 
when  we  have  our  appointed  interview  with  the  Prince 
at  noon." 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  two  found  themselves  entering 
the  palace  doors  of  Monplaisir.  They  were  ushered  into 
a  room  Roger  had  not  before  seen,  known  as  the  Prince's 
cabinet.  It  was  small  and  luxurious,  and  the  bright 
sun  of  April  laughed  in  at  the  one  tall  window,  with  its 

376 


Captain  Egremont  acts  as  Coachman 

yellow  satin  hangings.     There  was  an  inner  room,  which 
seemed  smaller  still. 

Seated  at  a  table  in  the  first  apartment,  was  Prince 
Karl,  and  with  him  Bertha  von  Kohler. 

The  Prince  rose  as  Berwick  entered,  and  saluted  him 
pleasantly ;    nor  was  he  cold  to  Roger. 

"I  desire  to  place  in  your  Highness's  hands,"  said 
Berwick,  suavely,  "  the  letter  of  His  Most  Christian 
Majesty.  Likewise  to  convey  to  you  the  views  of  His 
Most  Christian  Majesty  on  certain  matters  concerning 
the  league  between  the  kingdom  of  France  and  the 
principality   of   Orlamunde." 

The  Prince  extended  his  hand  for  the  letter.  Countess 
Bertha  wore  a  broad  smile  of  delight.  She  aspired  to  be 
the  Maintenon  of  this  dissipated,  evil  Prince. 

"  Pardon,"  said  Berwick,  bowing,  "  I  must  ask  your 
Highness  for  a  private  interview." 

"  Come  into  my  closet,  then,"  replied  the  Prince,  in  a 
fretful  voice. 

Roger  and  the  Countess  Bertha  remaining  alone,  the 
Countess  appeared  to  be  furiously  vexed. 

"  His  Highness  discusses  questions  of  state  before  me," 
she  said ;  "  I  do  not  know  why  the  Duke  of  Berwick 
can  object  to  my  presence." 

"  Nor  can  I,  dear  lady,"  said  Roger,  with  a  grin,  "  un- 
less it  be  that  he  has  orders  from  his  Most  Christian 
Majesty  to  make  his  communication  in  the  strictest 
privacy.  And  it  would  be  exactly  like  the  Duke  of 
Berwick  to  do  what  the  King  of  France  told  him,  in 
spite  of  your  own  sweet  wishes." 

Countess  Bertha  turned  very  red  in  her  anger,  unlike 
the  Prince,  who  turned  pale  when  he  was  in  a  rage. 

"  At  all  events,  I  shall  know  all  that  passes ;  of  that 
you  may  be  sure," 

377 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"My  charming  friend,  of  course  I  know  it.  The 
Prince  leaks  like  a  sieve.  The  King  of  France  took,  I 
think,  much  trouble  for  nothing." 

Countess  Bertha's  eyes  flashed.  The  impudence  of 
this  fellow  was  past  bearing. 

"  I  think  I  understand  you,  Mr.  Egremont,  —  and  I  un- 
derstand why  you  and  your  friend  the  Duke  of  Berwick 
treat  the  Prince  and  me  with  such  studied  disrespect. 
"We  all  had  eyes  last  night.  There  is  a  personage  here 
in  whom  you  take  a  singular  interest.  Her  enemies  are 
your  enemies,  her  feuds  are  your  feuds,  her  friends  your 
friends  ;  shall  I  speak  her  name  ?  " 

"  Not,  dearest  madam,  if  you  have  the  least  regard  for 
your  present  health  and  future  welfare.  For,  I  swear  to 
you,  if  you  speak  that  lady's  name  before  me  with  any 
but  the  most  profound  respect,  I  am  your  enemy  and  you 
are  mine,  to  the  very  last  hour  of  my  life.  Remember, 
creatures  like  you  hold  their  power  by  a  very  uncertain 
tenure,  and  the  personage  you  dare  to  allude  to  holds 
hers  by  the  power  of  a  subsidy  of  two  hundred  thousand 
livres  a  year.  The  Prince  loves  money  better  than  he 
loves  you,  and  upon  the  report  that  we  take  back  to 
France  does  that  two  hundred  thousand  livres  depend." 

Countess  Bertha  sat  down  again,  still  trembling. 
Roger  sat  and  smiled  at  her  with  the  utmost  bland- 
ness. 

In  a  few  minutes  Berwick  came  from  the  inner  room, 
and  he  was  heard  saying :  "  Thanks  for  your  Highness's 
safe  conduct.  For  two  days  I  shall,  with  Captain  Egre- 
mont, visit  Mondberg  and  Arnheim,  and  return  with  my 
report  to  your  Highness." 

The  Prince  remained  sulking  in  the  inner  room,  and 
Berwick,  after  a  pause  at  the  threshold,  said,  "  I  have 
the  honor  to  bid  your  Highness  good-morning." 

378 


Captain  Egremont  acts  as  Coachman 

Then,  nodding  slightly  to  Countess  Bertha,  Berwick's 
tall  figure  stalked  out.  But  Roger  made  her  a  low- 
obeisance,  and  walked  out  backward,  with  many  genu- 
flexions, as  if  he  were  leaving  the  presence  of  royalty  — 
much  to  the  lady's  fury. 

He  joined  Berwick,  and  the  two  walked  together 
through  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans,  the  marble  corridor, 
and  many  other  sumptuous  rooms,  Berwick  growling: 

"  The  abandoned  villain  !  But  I  have  him  —  I  can 
make  him  squeal,  and  by  God,  I  will !  " 

On  the  marble  terrace  outside,  the  Princess  was 
walking  up  and  down,  with  the  Marochetti  and  some 
other  busybodies  about  her.  They  closed  in  around 
Berwick  and  Roger,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of 
preconceived  attempt  to  prevent  them  from  having  any 
private  conversation  with  the  Princess.  But  Berwick,  in 
his  direct  and  simple  way,  foiled  them.  "  Madam,"  he 
said  to  the  Princess,  "  may  Mr.  Egremont  and  I  have 
the  honor  of  a  few  moments'  private  talk  with  your 
Highness  ?  " 

"Certainly,  mj  lord  Duke,"  replied  the  Princess, 
walking  apart  from  the  crew,  which  slunk  back. 

She  led  the  way  to  a  marble  bench,  over  which  stood 
a  statue  of  Silence,  holding  a  rose  in  one  hand,  with 
the  finger  of  the  other  to  her  lip.  On  the  Princess's 
invitation,  they  sat,  Roger  on  a  garden  chair  which  he 
drew  up,  and  Berwick  on  the  bench  with  the  Princess. 
The  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  waiting  hovered  as  near  as 
they  dared,  but  out  of  earshot. 

Roger  observed  Michelle  well.  She  was  indeed  pale 
and  thin,  and  had  that  look  most  wretched  to  see  on  a 
woman's  face,  —  one  of  defiant  misery.  But  she  was 
plainly  softened  by  the  presence  of  her  two  friends. 
To  Roger  Egremont's  eyes,  she  was  only  more  lovely, 

379 


The  House  of  Egremont 

more  enchanting,  in  her  woe  than  in  her  triumphant 
youth.  How  did  he  long  to  take  this  poor,  stricken 
lamb  to  his  bosom,  and  soothe  and  cherish  her ! 

"  Madam,"  said  Berwick,  "  we  have  come  on  a  double 
errand,  —  to  see  how  the  Prince  is  keeping  his  engage- 
ments about  Mondberg  and  Arnheim,  and  to  see  how 
it  fares  with  you.  The  King  has  given  me  large  discre- 
tion ;  he  has  no  mind  to  sacrifice  you,  and  is  your  un- 
wavering friend." 

Michelle's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  she  laughed  as 
she  turned  away,  saying  tremulously,  — 

"  1  must  not  let  those  wretches  yonder  see  me  weep. 
They  have  not  yet  wrung  a  tear  from  me  that  any  one 
has  seen.  As  for  the  Prince's  engagements,  I  cannot 
tell  how  he  is  keeping  them,  but  this  I  know,  that 
Hugo  Stein  "  —  she  turned  to  Roger,  and  a  brilliant 
smile  broke  over  her  face  —  "  is  the  accredited  agent  of 
William  of  Orange,  and  he  has  been  trying  to  induce 
the  Prince  to  sell  the  twenty-four  bronze  guns  for  about 
one  half  their  value.  Countess  Bertha  is  in  the  scheme, 
and  no  doubt  will  get  a  part  of  the  money." 

"We  shall  settle  that  very  easily,  madam,"  replied 
Berwick.  "  We  go  to  Mondberg  and  Arnheim  this  very 
day,  and  if  the  guns  are  not  there,  we  return  here,  and 
make  the  Prince  account  for  them.  If  they  are  there, 
with  what  you  have  told  me,  and  with  what  the  Prince 
betrayed  involuntarily  to  me,  I  shall  demand  the  instant 
withdrawal  of  Hugo  Stein,  on  pain  of  withholding  your 
dowry." 

"  And  without  my  dowry,  the  Prince  will  not  want 
me,"  cried  poor  Michelle,  her  sad  eyes  beginning  to 
sparkle. 

"  Madam,"  said  Berwick,  "  if  you  wish  to  return  to 
France,  I  cannot  myself  escort  you,  as  it  might  make 

380 


Captain  Egremont  acts  as  Coachman 

political  complications ;  but  Mr.  Egremont  —  who  is 
only  my  travelling  companion,  and  is  therefore  inde- 
pendent —  " 

"  Will  take  you,  and  cut  the  throat  of  any  man  who 
would  keep  you  back,"  interrupted  Roger,  vehemently. 

Michelle  leaned  back  smiling,  and  trying  to  keep 
bach  her  tears. 

"  I  thought  I  had  not  a  friend  in  the  world,"  she  said, 
"  but  now  —  Only,  if  I  should  leave,  what  would  be- 
come of  the  poor  French  who  have  settled  here  ?  For 
there  are  in  Orlamunde  a  dozen  or  so  of  French  families 
which  have  come  here  to  practise  their  arts  —  such  as  per- 
fumers, wig-makers,  and  such.    Those  people  look  to  me." 

"  We  may  trust  the  King  of  France  to  look  after  his 
subjects,"  replied  Berwick.  "  But  now  tell  me,  madam, 
all  you  know  of  Hugo  Stein." 

"  I  know  nothing  good  of  him,"  said  Michelle,  a  deep 
blush  appearing  upon  her  pale  cheek.  "  He  had  the 
insolence  to  pity  me,  as  a  neglected  wife, — to  —  to  — 
dare  to  say  that  I  could  find  in  him  the  devotion  the 
Prince  lacked  —  and  much  else.  I  ordered  him  from 
my  presence ;  I  could  not  order  him  from  the  palace, 
because  I  have  no  authority  here  —  the  Countess  Bertha 
reigns  at  Orlamunde — "  this  with  extreme  bitterness. 
"He  appeared  with  unabated  assurance  at  the  levee 
after  this  interview,  and  excepting  that  he  is  insolent  to 
me,  where  once  he  cringed,  there  is  no  change  in  him. 
But  I  know  that  he  has  orders  to  get  the  twenty-four 
guns,  if  possible ;  and  I  believe  he  is  offered  a  place  at 
court  in  England,  provided  he  can  get  them." 

Roger's  heart  swelled  as  she  spoke,  but  his  spirits 
rose  likewise.  How  sweet  was  the  thought  of  revenge 
upon  his  enemy  !  And  he  had  little  doubt  that  Berwick 
would  make  Orlamunde  too  hot  to  hold  Hugo  Stein. 

381 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Then  they  talked  together  for  an  hour. 

Michelle  had  much  to  ask  of  her  friends  in  France, 
and  some  gentle  words  of  sympathy  for  Berwick  when 
he  gave  her,  in  a  few  words,  some  particulars  of  the  loss 
of  his  young  and  lovely  wife.  At  last  she  rose.  Ber- 
wick, who  was  no  waster  of  time,  wished  to  start  for 
Arnheim  that  afternoon. 

"  For  I  foresee,"  he  said  with  a  grim  smile,  "  that  a 
week  will  be  the  extreme  limit  of  our  stay  here.  The 
Prince  has  graciously  allowed  Mr.  Egremont  a  week  to 
make  up  his  mind  to  apologize  for  pitching  Hugo  Stein 
out  of  the  window,  —  and,  as  I  know  he  will  not  be  able 
to  do  it  in  that  time,  I  take  it  that  we  shall  be  leaving 
shortly." 

"  Oh  that  I  could  go  with  you ! "  cried  the  poor  Prin- 
cess. "  If  you  but  knew  —  "  Then  she  stopped  speak- 
ing, rose  quickly,  and  tripped  away  gayly,  waving  her 
hand  and  crying  out,  "  Au  revoir." 

All  that  day  Michelle  had  the  feeling  of  an  impend- 
ing crisis  —  something  decisive  was  in  the  air.  True  it 
was  that  Berwick  came  armed  with  all  the  authority  of  the 
King  of  France,  and  as  such,  having  great  power  over 
the  Prince,  But  it  was  something  more  than  that  —  a 
crisis  was  at  hand  in  Michelle's  life.  This  she  felt  as 
she  had  never  felt  before.  Tt  made  the  time  pass  as  if 
she  were  in  a  dream. 

On  the  Wednesday,  Berwick  and  Roger  Egremont 
had  left  for  the  fortified  places,  which  were  only  about 
fifteen  miles  away  —  and  on  the  Friday  were  they  ex- 
pected to  return. 

As  soon  as  their  absence  was  known.  Sir  Hugo  ap- 
peared at  Monplaisir.  He  had  thought  it  judicious  to 
keep  away  for  a  day,  especially  until  the  blast  of  ridicule 
had  blown  over  —  for  this  precious  crew  fell  upon  each 

382 


Captain  Egremont  acts  as  Coachman 

other  with  savage  mirth  when  one  of  them  met  with 
disaster.  At  the  levee  on  Wednesday  evening,  however, 
he  appeared  in  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans.  He  was  as  cool, 
as  calm,  as  handsome  as  ever,  and  as  superbly  dressed, 
except  that  he  wore  a  new  sword,  without  a  jewelled 
handle.  He  had  to  hear  many  sly  innuendoes,  and 
much  open  rallying  upon  his  exit  through  the  window, 
on  meeting  his  half-brother.  He  took  it  with  stoical 
composure. 

"  My  brother  is  quite  light-headed  in  his  fury,"  he 
said,  and  told  the  story  of  Roger's  throwing  the  plate  of 
beans  into  the  face  of  William  of  Orange.  He  told  it 
in  a  loud  voice  as  he  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  dais,  so  that 
the  Princess,  sitting  on  her  canopied  chair,  heard  him 
distinctly. 

"  And  he  is  a  disloyal  man  and  a  rebel,  and  being 
both  evil  and  unfortunate,  I  can  but  pity  him;  and 
besides,  he  is  my  brother,  —  we  are  the  sons  of  one 
father." 

"  Did  you  say  your  brother  was  both  evil  and  unfor- 
tunate ?  "  asked  Michelle,  leaning  forward. 

Now,  this  was  an  unlucky  speech  for  the  poor  Prin- 
cess, because  it  was  already  in  the  air,  as  Countess 
Bertha  had  said,  that  there  was  love  between  the  Prin- 
cess and  the  English  gentleman. 

"I  did,  madam,"  replied  Sir  Hugo,  impudently. 
"  But  perhaps  you  know  him  better  than  I." 

"I  do,"  retorted  the  Princess,  in  a  soft  voice.  "I 
know  that  at  St.  Germains  he  had  the  high  regard  of 
his  King  and  yours,  and  that  of  the  King  of  France, 
upon  whose  will  alone  Orlamunde  exists  as  an  indepen- 
dent state.  You  are  a  very  rash  man,  Hugo  Stein,  to 
show  yourself  in  the  presence  of  your  half-brother  Roger 
Egremont,  and  of  Lieutenant-General  the  Duke  of  Ber- 

383 


The  House  of  Egremont 

wick,  who  comes  here  with  the  fate  of  Orlamunde  in 
his  hands." 

Sir  Hugo's  face  turned  scarlet  as  she  called  him  Stein, 
and  all  his  dear  friends  laughed  —  so  much  so  that  the 
Prince,  who  was  playing  lansquenet  in  the  next  room, 
asked  what  the  joke  was ;  a  dozen  persons  pressed  for- 
ward eagerly  to  tell  him. 

Presently  Sir  Hugo  got  near  enough  to  the  Princess 
to  whisper  in  her  ear,  "  You  shall  pay  for  that  speech, 
my  lady." 

"  Just  as  you  please,"  smilingly  replied  Michelle,  out 
aloud.  "I  do  not  think  that  Orlamunde  is  large 
enough  to  hold  you  and  me  much  longer;  and  when 
you  go,  you  carry  with  you  the  bribe  of  your  master 
William  of  Orange,  —  but  when  I  go,  I  take  with  me 
most  of  the  ready  money  which  goes  to  support  the 
Countess  Bertha." 

And  with  this  shot  the  Princess  lay  back  in  her  chair 
of  state,  her  dark  eyes  full  of  laughter  and  triumph. 
Sir  Hugo  turned  his  back  upon  her,  at  which  she 
laughed  a  rippling,  silver  laugh;  and  then  the  tale- 
bearers flew  into  the  next  room  to  tell  the  Prince  that 
the  Princess  and  Sir  Hugo  were  quarrelling,  or  making 
love,  —  nobody  exactly  knew  which. 

On  the  next  night  was  the  weekly  masked  ball, 
which  was,  next  to  gambling,  the  very  life  of  the 
princely  palace  of  Monplaisir. 

It  was  to  be  a  very  brilliant  ball ;  for  so  the  Coun- 
tess Bertha  had  determined.  The  Prince  had  just  given 
her  a  new  emerald  and  diamond  necklace,  and  she 
longed  to  display  it.  The  Princess  had  ever  taken  but 
little  interest  in  these  balls,  and  when  she  appeared  at 
them  —  which  was  not  always  —  did  not  commonly  take 
the  trouble  to  put  on  her  jewels.     But  to-night  that 

384 


Captain  Egremont  acts  as  Coachman 

strange,  intangible,  but  convincing  feeling  of  an  impend- 
ing crisis  moved  Michelle  to  dress  herself  magnificently, 
with  all  her  diamonds  blazing  upon  her  graceful  head 
and  around  her  white  neck.  Perhaps  it  was  partly 
also  that  feeling,  which  departs  only  with  life,  that 
makes  a  woman  desire  to  shine  before  the  man  she 
loves. 

Michelle  had  loved  but  one  man,  —  Roger  Egremont, 
—  and  he  was  far  removed  from  her  by  all  manner  of 
obstacles ;  yet  she  had  loved  him  well,  and  loved  him 
still.  She  had  noted  all  the  silver  hairs  in  his  chestnut 
locks,  all  the  lines  that  had  come  into  his  bronzed 
face ;  his  coming  had  power  to  thrill  her,  to  make  her 
hate  tenfold  the  wretched  creature  to  whom  she  was 
tied,  to  make  her  blush  with  rage  and  shame  at  the 
insults  he  and  his  wretched  companions  heaped  upon 
her.  And  having  hungered  for  the  sight  of  Roger 
Egremont  for  five  years,  she  had  herself  splendidly 
dressed,  and  called  up  the  color  into  her  pallid  face,  and 
the  fire  into  her  weary  eyes  to  welcome  him. 

The  haunting  presentiment  which  had  not  left  her 
since  Berwick  and  Roger  appeared  made  her  collect 
what  money  she  had,  as  well  as  her  jewels,  and  put  it 
where  she  could  lay  her  hand  upon  it.  And  also  she 
made  her  waiting-women  lay  upon  her  bed  a  plain 
riding-suit  and  a  furred  mantle. 

"For,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  descended,  with 
stately  grace,  the  marble  staircase,  "this  is  my  last 
ball  at  Orlamunde  —  my  last  ball  at  Orlamunde." 

When  she  reached  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans,  where 
there  was  dancing  to  the  incomparably  good  music  of 
Prince  Karl's  private  band,  neither  the  Duke  of  Ber- 
wick nor  Roger  Egremont  was  there.  Michelle's  heart 
sank  a  little ;  but  Berwick  and  Roger  had  told  her 
25  385 


The  House  of  Egremont 

they  would  return  on  the  Friday  night,  and  nothing 
could  shake  her  faith  in  them.  They  would  be  there ; 
sooner  or  later,  they  would  be  there. 

Hugo  Stein  was  already  present,  walking  about  with 
his  mask  in  his  hand.  He  bowed  insolently  to  the  Prin- 
cess, who  sat  in  her  chair  of  state,  unmasked  and  declin- 
ing to  dance,  and  she  gave  him  a  smile  of  contempt 
which  made  him  long  to  wring  her  white  neck. 

Michelle  sat  in  her  place  hour  after  hour,  smiling, 
composed,  and  waiting.  It  was  divined  at  once  for 
whom  she  was  waiting,  —  in  fact,  Hugo  Stein  had  told 
the  Countess  Bertha,  in  tones  loud  enough  for  Michelle 
to  hear,  why  the  Princess  waited  so  patiently,  and  why 
she  was  so  splendidly  dressed.  Michelle  heard  him,  but 
did  not  betray  so  much  as  by  the  flicker  of  an  eyelash 
that  his  words  disturbed  her.  But  she  knew  that 
before  daylight  dawned  Berwick  and  Roger  would,  as 
they  had  said,  be  at  the  palace  of  Monplaisir. 

The  balls  at  this  lovely  palace  were  noisily  gay,  and 
when,  shortly  after  midnight,  Berwick  and  Roger,  in 
riding-dress,  drew  rein  before  the  palace  doors,  the 
throbbing  of  the  music,  the  shrieks  of  laughter,  the 
rhythm  of  dancing  feet  were  loud  in  their  ears. 

Count  Bernstein,  who  received  them,  looked  infinitely 
surprised,  the  more  so  when  Berwick  demanded  to  see 
the  Prince  immediately  on  urgent  affairs. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  cried  Bernstein.  "  His  Highness 
is  this  moment  at  supper  with  a  choice  party  of  his 
friends,  and  cannot  be  disturbed.  He  will  see  you  early 
to-morrow  mornino-." 

"  Count  Bernstein,"  said  Berwick,  going  up  close 
to  him,  "  tell  your  master  that  the  Duke  of  Berwick 
wishes  to  see  him  immediately,  or  it  will  be  the  worse 
for  you." 

386 


Captain  .Egremont  acts  as  Coachman 

Bernstein,  highly  offended,  turned  away,  but  he 
dared  not  disobey;  he,  too,  got  his  share  of  the  two 
hundred  tliousand  livres. 

Berwick  and  Roger  walked  about  restlessly  in  the 
entrance  hall.  The  dancers  saw  them,  and  peered 
curiously  at  them.  Once,  through  an  open  door,  they 
caught  sight  of  Michelle,  a  vision  in  white  and  pearls 
and  diamonds,  sitting  in  her  chair  of  state,  without  a  soul 
near  her  except  a  solitary  lady-in-waiting,  who  yawned 
behind  her  fan.  The  rest,  men  and  women,  were  flock- 
ing about  the  Countess  Bertha,  who  held  her  court  with 
the  Prince  at  the  other  end  of  the  saloon. 

After  a  long,  long  wait,  Bernstein  came  back  to  say 
that  the  Prince  would  see  them  in  his  closet  in  an  hour. 

"  It  must  be  a  short  hour,"  was  Berwick's  comment 
on  this.  They  were  shown  into  the  Prince's  closet,  the 
same  room  where  they  had  encountered  the  Countess 
Bertha  three  days  before.  An  hour  passed.  The  clock 
struck  two.  There  was  no  lull  in  the  crash  of  music 
and  the  beat  of  the  dancers'  feet  upon  the  floor. 

At  half-past  two  Berwick  had  just  risen  to  go  in 
person  to  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans,  when  the  Prince 
entered.  And  leaning  on  his  arm  was  a  masked  lady 
laughing  very  much  at  something  the  Prince  was  just 
saying.     It  was  the  Countess  Bertha, 

"  I  beg  you  a  thousand  pardons,  my  lord  Duke,  and 
you,  Mr.  Egremont."  began  the  Prince,  airily,  "but  the 
ladies  —  the  ladies  bewitched  me  and  kept  me  beyond 
my  time." 

"  It  is  nothing,  so  you  are  here  at  last,"  was  Berwick's 
reply. 

Countess  Bertha  sank  upon  a  chair,  and  removing 
her  mask,  fanned  herself  with  it.  She  had  determined 
to  make  a  stand  to  be  present  at  the  interview;   but 

387 


The  House  of  Egremqnt 

apparently  no  stand  was  required,  as  neither  Berwick 
nor  Roger  took  the  least  notice  of  her. 

"  Sir,"  began  Berwick,  without  any  circumlocution. 
"  I  and  Mr.  Egremont,  in  whose  judgment  as  a  military 
man  I  have  confidence,  have  visited  within  the  last  two 
days,  Mondberg  and  Arnheim." 

At  this,  Prince  Karl  grew  visibly  paler ;  he  was 
naturally  of  a  cadaverous  complexion. 

"  We  find  the  fortifications  in  complete  order,  as  you 
agreed  with  his  Most  Christian  Majesty ;  but  instead 
of  the  twenty-four  bronze  guns,  of  the  latest  pattern 
of  ordnance,  we  found  twenty-four  dummies,  guns 
made  of  some  species  of  composition,  painted  over  to 
resemble  bronze,  and  calculated  to  deceive  any  one  who 
did  not  minutely  examine  them." 

The  Prince  was  quite  pale  now,  and  bowed  his  head 
on  his  hand  weakly. 

"  And,"  continued  Berwick,  "  we  find  that  they  have 
been  removed  within  ten  days,  and  they  cannot  yet 
have  been  shipped  to  England ;  for  that  is  their  destina- 
tion. I  have  come  to  require  of  you  to  replace  those 
guns  where  they  belong  within  thirty  days,  and  to  dis- 
miss at  once  Hugo  Stein  who  acted  as  agent  for  the 
Prince  of  Orange  in  this  affair." 

The  Prince  attempted  to  bluster.  "  You  take  a  tone 
with  me,  my  lord  Duke,  which  a  reigning  Prince  is  not 
accustomed  to,  and,"  rising,  "  will  not  bear.  How  are 
you  to  enforce  your  demands,  sir  ? 

«  By  at  once  notifying  the  King  of  France,  who  will 
withhold  the  pension  of  two  hundred  thousand  livres 
which  he  allows  you  in  the  form  of  a  dowry  for  the 
Princess." 

The  Prince  sat  down  again. 

"  And  I  must  desire  you,"  continued  Berwick,  "  to 
"  388 


Captain  Egremont  acts  as  Coachman 

send  immediately  for  Hugo  Stein,  as  I  wish  my  inter- 
view with  him  to  be  in  your  presence." 

The  Prince  made  no  move,  and  Roger  Egremont 
after  waiting  a  moment  rose  and  touched  the  bell. 
Bernstein  appeared  so  quickly  at  the  door  that  he 
seemed  to  have  been  listening  outside. 

"  The  Prince  desires  to  see  Hugo  Stein  immediately," 
said  Roger. 

Bernstein  looked  at  the  Prince  for  confirmation,  and 
a  faint  nod  was  enough. 

Countess  Bertha,  ambitious  to  play  the  part  of  a 
Maintenon,  then  spoke. 

"  My  advice  has  not  been  asked,"  she  began. 

"  And  will  not  be,  dear  lady,"  replied  Roger  promptly. 
"  And  if  you  wish  to  remain  and  hear  and  see  all  that 
passes,  you  must  be  very  good  and  still,  else  the  Duke 
of  Berwick  will  request  to  see  the  Prince  in  private, 
and  you  will  miss  a  very  interesting  scene." 

Countess  Bertha  looked  at  the  Prince,  who  scowled, 
and  at  Berwick,  who  smiled,  and  concluded  to  hold  her 
tongue. 

In  a  few  moments  more  Hugo  Stein  walked  in.  He 
saluted  the  Prince  respectfully,  and  kissed  the  hand 
of  the  Countess  Bertha,  and  then  looking  about  him, 
aslied  suavely,  — 

"  May  I  ask  your  Highness's  pleasure  ?  " 

His  Highness  shuffled  uneasily  in  his  chair,  and 
mumbled  something  indistinctly.  Berwick  spoke  for 
him  in  a  very  cool,  calm  voice. 

"Hugo  Stein,  the  affair  of  the  twenty-four  guns  is 
discovered.  His  Highness  has  precisely  thirty  days  in 
which  to  replace  them,  for  they  are  probably  now  in 
the  Low  Countries,  and  he  has  exactly  thirty  minutes 
to  get  rid  of  you,  intriguer  and  falsifier  that  you  are." 

389 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Hugo  Stein  was  not  deficient  in  personal  courage, 
when  driven  to  the  wall.  But  he  was  so  absolutely 
wedded  to  his  own  interest  that  he  seldom  allowed 
himself  the  luxury  of  honest  indignation. 

"  Thirty  minutes,  have  I  ?  "  he  said.  "  Are  you,  James 
Fitzjames,  the  ruler  of  Orlamunde,  or  is  Prince  Karl  ?  " 

Berwick  turned  such  a  look  upon  the  Prince  that  he 
was  galvanized  into  action. 

"I  —  I  —  am  extremely  sorry.  Sir  Hugo,"  he  faltered. 
"  As  you  know,  I  am  under  a  very  strict  agreement,  — 
obligation,  one  may  say,  — to  His  Most  Christian  Majesty, 
The  Duke  of  Berwick  has  made  the  demand  —  I  mean 
the  request  —  for  your  dismissal." 

Hugo  Stein  looked  about  him  at  the  three  men  be- 
fore whom  he  stood.  He  was  an  inborn  time-server, 
but  he  was  not  devoid  of  sense,  nor  was  this  bastard 
Egremont  devoid  of  courage.  He  knew  all  about  the 
Duke  of  Berwick,  and  knowing  the  man,  he  felt  a  per- 
fect certainty  that  he  would  have  to  leave  Orlamunde. 
Nevertheless,  he  would  make  a  fight  for  it.  He  turned 
to  the  craven  Prince  and  said,  with  a  low  bow,  — 

"  Is  your  Highness  willing  to  take  the  responsibility 
of  dismissing  the  accredited  agent  of  the  King  of  Eng- 
land at  the  bidding  of  the  King  of  France  ?  I  beg  an 
answer." 

This  opened  a  loophole  for  the  poor  stupid  princeling. 
He  tried  to  bluster. 

"  My  lord  Duke,"  he  said,  turning  to  Berwick ;  "  what 
Sir  Hugo  Egremont  says  is  of  moment.  It  will  be  a 
very  gross  affront  to  the  King  of  England." 

"  No,  it  will  not,"  replied  Berwick.  "  Your  Highness 
must  be  aware  that  the  King  of  England  dwells  at  St. 
Germains,  and  the  Stadtholder  of  Holland  reigns  in 
England.     But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there.     If  your 

390 


Captain  Egremont  acts  as  Coachman 

Highness  does  not  dismiss  this  man,  you  will  hear  from 
the  King  of  France.  His  message  will  be  brought  by 
a  couple  of  regiments  of  tall,  stout  fellows,  who  will 
remain  at  Orlamunde,  to  be  fed  at  your  expense,  until 
this  man,  Hugo  Stein,  goes.  And  the  soldiers  of  His 
Most  Christian  Majesty  have  enormous  appetites  !  They 
will  eat  up  the  palace  of  Monplaisir,  the  schloss  in  the 
town,  all  your  Highness's  carriages  and  horses,  pictures 
and  statues,  jewels  and  money,  —  everything,  in  short, 
and  possibly  end  by  devouring  your  Highness." 

The  Prince  wiped  his  face,  which  was  sicklier,  more 
cadaverous,  than  ever.  He  got  up  from  his  chair  and 
sat  down  again.  He  looked  into  Hugo  Stein's  hand- 
some eyes,  and  saw  there  the  promise  of  the  vengeance 
of  a  desperate  man.  He  looked  into  Berwick's,  and 
saw  there  the  promise  of  the  vengeance  of  the  King  of 
France. 

He  said  no  articulate  word ;  but  a  sound,  a  motion, 
conveyed  to  Hugo  Stein  that  he  was  beaten.  Countess 
Bertha  sat,  inwardly  raging,  but  afraid  to  speak.  Roger 
stood,  enjoying  himself  hugely,  and  feeling  little  thrills 
of  happiness  run  up  and  down  his  legs  and  his  back  at 
the  discomfiture  of  his  enemy.  Roger  could  not  say, 
however,  that  Hugo  showed  any  discomfiture  in  his  eye. 
He  stood,  a  smile  breaking  over  his  handsome  face,  his 
hand  gently  tapping  his  new  sword,  and  had  the  air  of 
a  man  with  a  card  in  hand  yet. 

"  So  I  must  go,  at  the  order  of  the  Duke  of  Berwick  ? 
Well,  before  I  pack  my  portmanteau  to  report  to  his 
Majesty  of  England,  I  desire  to  see  her  Highness  the 
Princess  of  Orlamunde,  in  your  Highness's  presence  ; 
for  I  plainly  perceive  that  it  is  that  illustrious  lady  who 
is  at  the  bottom  of  this.  It  is  she  who  has  kept  the 
French  King  advised  of  affairs  at  Orlamunde ;  and  it  is 

391 


The  House  of  Egremont 

she  who  told  me,  some  months  ago,  that  should  I  suc- 
ceed in  securing  the  guns,  she  would  see  that  I  suffered 
for  it." 

Bernstein,  who  was  still  hovering  about  the  door,  dis- 
appeared. There  was  deep  silence  in  the  little  room. 
Every  heart  listened  to  its  own  beating.  Roger  thought 
that  his  would  break  through  his  ribs,  so  hard  did  it 
pound  them.  Through  the  open  door  came  the  echo  of 
dancing  and  revelling.  And  after  a  pause  which  seemed 
interminable,  the  sweep  of  satin  garments  was  heard  on 
the  marble  floor,  and  in  another  moment  Michelle  walked 
into  the  room.  Her  face  was  full  of  color,  and  her  eyes 
sparkled  like  the  diadem  she  wore.  Roger  was  reminded 
of  her  unearthly  beauty  on  that  day  when  she  entered 
Orlamunde,  and  on  that  next,  most  ill-fated  morning, 
when  she  had  married  the  creature  before  them.  She 
wore  a  rich  white  mantle,  and  casting  it  off  her  bare 
shoulders,  she  said,  in  her  usual  sweet  and  composed 
voice,  — 

"  I  am  here  at  the  request  of  your  Highness." 

As  she  entered,  Berwick  and  Roger  Egremont  rose 
and  bowed  profoundly.  Hugo  Stein  was  already  stand- 
ing, and  he  did  not  bow  at  all ;  he  only  looked  at  Michelle 
with  an  unrelenting  smile.  The  Prince  did  not  budge 
at  all,  nor  the  Countess  Bertha,  until  she  was  moved  by 
Roger  Egremont,  who,  taking  her  elbow  firmly  in  one 
hand,  gently  brought  her  to  her  feet,  while  with  the 
other  hand  he  tipped  her  head  forward  until  she  exe- 
cuted a  very  humble  bow. 

Michelle  flashed  a  smile  at  him,  —  a  smile  so  bright, 
so  full  of  light  and  grace  and  feeling,  that  it  almost 
turned  him  dizzy. 

There  was  a  deep,  deep,  pause.  The  Prince  had  not 
answered  Michelle's  question,  and  the  first  voice  that 

392 


Captain  Egremont  acts  as  Coachman 

spoke  was  Hugo  Stein's,  —  cool,  measured,  and  ineffably 
wicked. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "his  Highness  has  seen  fit  to 
order  me  from  Orlamunde  for  alleged  political  reasons. 
I  foresee  that  the  truth  will  soon  be  out.  He  has,  no 
doubt,  information  concerning  our  attachment.  I  shall 
be  compelled  to  leave  you  to  face  the  storm  alone.  But 
I  wish  to  bear  testimony  that  I  am  solely  to  blame.  It 
was  I  who  sought  you  out ;  who,  charmed  by  your  wit, 
and  enchanted  by  your  beauty,  gave  rein  to  the  passion 
you  inspired  within  me.  Had  the  Prince  been  a  more 
attentive  husband,  he  would  not  now  be  lamenting  his 
own  shame.  I  offer,  in  his  presence  and  that  of  the 
persons  who  are  now  here,  to  take  you  away  with  me, 
and  to  make  you  my  wife  as  soon  as  a  divorce  can  be 
obtained." 

Had  the  sky  above  them  parted,  and  the  earth  be- 
neath them  opened,  and  the  whole  world  fallen  into 
chaos  and  old  night,  there  could  not  have  been  more 
overpowering  amazement.  It  was  some  minutes  be- 
fore any  one  recovered  sufficiently  to  speak,  or  even  to 
think,  Hugo  Stein  alone  stood  in  perfect  possess- 
ion of  his  faculties,  looking  coolly  about  him  with 
an  affected  humility  which  could  not  conceal  a  sly 
smile.  What  delicious  revenge  was  his !  How  simple, 
how  comprehensive  !  How  many  did  he  pay  back ! 
That  wretched  Prince,  who,  bought  by  him,  could  be 
frightened  by  Berwick;  that  haughty  Princess,  who 
had  scorned  and  humiliated  him  ;  and  that  half-brother, 
who  had  so  grossly  insulted  him,  and  against  whom 
he  had  that  fierce  and  vivid  hatred  which  a  man  always 
feels  towards  one  whom  he  has  injured.  Hugo  Stein 
had,  indeed,  —  what  the  bad  in  this  life,  as  well  as 
the  good,   seldom  have,  —  one  moment  of  perfect  and 

393 


The  House  of  Egremont 

entrancing  joy,  when  everything  goes  exactly  as  one 
wishes. 

Roger  Egremont  was  the  first  to  recover  his  senses. 
Without  a  word,  but  with  a  cry  like  a  tiger,  he  sprang 
at  Hugo's  throat.  Berwick,  catching  him  in  a  powerful 
grasp,  forced  him  back  into  a  chair,  and  held  him  there. 

The  Prince  lay  back  in  his  chair,  livid  and  panting. 
He  was  a  very  foolish  prince,  was  this  Karl  whom 
Michelle  had  married,  weak  of  will,  as  he  was  of  under- 
standing, and  open  to  suspicion.  He  had  enough  that 
was  human  in  him  to  wish  to  kill  the  man  who  asserted 
that  he  had  dishonored  the  Princess,  and  Hugo,  looking 
back  and  forth,  saw  two  pairs  of  eyes  fixed  on  him  with 
murder  in  them. 

As  for  Michelle,  she  stood  as  if  she  were  turned  to 
stone.  One  hand  she  had  partly  raised,  and  she  held 
it  unconsciously  in  the  same  position,  onl}--  a  few  inches 
from  the  top  of  the  carved  chair  on  which  she  had  been 
about  to  place  it.  Her  gaze  sought  Hugo  Stein's  with 
a  look  of  wide-eyed  horror  that  was  eloquent.  Although 
she  spoke  not  one  single  word,  that  look  was  accusation 
enough  to  condemn  him  a  thousand  times  over.  She 
actually  appeared  to  grow  taller  as  she  contemplated 
him,  and  the  indignation  that  brought  the  blood  surging 
to  her  face,  and  even  to  her  white  throat,  seemed  as 
visible  in  her  fair  body  as  the  rising  of  the  mercury  in 
a  glass  tube. 

There  was  now  no  retreat  for  Hugo  Stein,  nor  did  he 
wish  any.  He  had  this  woman  —  his  enemy  —  in  his 
hand,  as  he  thought,  and  he  had  no  mercy  on  her.  He 
advanced  a  step,  with  a  hypocritical  gesture  of  depreca- 
tion, and  cried,  — 

"  Ah,  Michelle,  have  I  not  made  all  the  reparation  in 
my  power  to  you  ?     If  it  was  ray  fault,  as  I  freely  admit, 

394 


Captain  Egremont  acts  as  Coachman 

that  we  had  those  sweet,  stolen  hours  together,  when 
we  saw  into  each  other's  hearts,  and  each  read  the  other 
like  an  open  book,  have  I  not  said,  at  the  very  moment 
of  our  detection,  that  I  am  ready  to  marry  you  the 
instant  the  Prince  secures  a  divorce  ?  And  you  may 
yet  be  Lady  Egremont.  Look  not  on  me  so,  love  ; 
remember  it  was  not  always  that  you  so  regarded  me." 

No  one  interrupted  Hugo  Stein,  as  he  made  this 
speech,  which  seemed  in  every  word  the  direct  inspira- 
tion of  the  Evil  One.  Berwick  was  holding  Roger 
Egremont  by  main  force,  or  Hugo  Stein  would  never 
have  lived  to  finish  it.  The  Prince  still  cowered  in  his 
chair,  breathing  heavily,  and  wiping  the  cold  sweat  from 
his  brow. 

Suddenly  Michelle  seemed  to  come  out  of  the  dread- 
ful trance  in  which  Hugo  Stein's  words  had  cast  her. 
The  deep,  red  color  still  remained  in  her  cheeks,  and 
she  could  not  quite  restrain  the  trembling  of  her  hands, 
but  she  relaxed  her  stony  attitude,  and,  advancing  to 
her  husband,  said  in  a  quiet,  natural  voice, — 

"This  creature  is  perfectly  sane  and  responsible, 
and  as  such,  your  Highness  must  now  and  here,  this 
moment,  take  steps  to  punish  him.  I  do  not  ask  his 
life,  although  he  has  forfeited  it  a  thousand  times  by 
what  he  has  said  ;  but  I  do  ask  —  demand  —  his  immedi- 
ate arrest,  and  the  most  rigid  imprisonment  until  he 
recants.  After  that,  it  will  be  time  enough  to  determine 
what  shall  be  done  with  him." 

The  Prince  sunk  farther  back  into  his  chair,  and 
looked  at  Michelle  with  hatred  and  suspicion  in  his 
eyes.  She  waited  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  repeated, 
word  for  word,  what  she  had  just  said. 

The  Prince  still  remaining  perfectly  inert  and  speech- 
less, Michelle  moved  a  step  nearer  to  him.     She  had 

395 


The  House  of  Egremont 

no  more  words  to  waste  on  him,  but  her  gaze  of  concen- 
trated scorn  and  loathing  pierced  the  armor  of  his  dul- 
ness  and  wickedness,  and  he  quailed  under  it. 

Hugo  Stein  smiled,  and  approaching  her,  knelt  at  her 
feet.  He  meant  to  take  her  hand  and  kiss  it,  but  when 
he  was  fairly  down  on  his  knee,  although  her  hand  was 
within  reach  of  him,  he  dared  not  touch  it,  and  scrambled 
foolishly  to  his  feet.  It  suddenly  came  over  him  that, 
if  he  attempted  it,  he  might  never  get  out  of  that  room 
alive. 

There  was  a  perfect  silence,  except  for  the  faint 
whisper  of  music  which  floated  through  the  open  door 
from  the  ball-room  of  the  Saloon  of  the  Swans.  The 
celestial  thrilling  of  the  violins  vibrated  so  softly  in  the 
air  that  it  might  have  come  from  another  world. 

Michelle,  after  contemplating  her  husband,  turned 
toward  Berwick  and  Roger  Egremont,  and  instantly 
both  of  them  rose  to  their  feet. 

"  Madam,  madam,"  cried  Roger,  almost  sobbing,  "  we 
will  defend  you !  "  He  ran  forward  and  knelt  at  her 
feet.  Berwick,  making  a  low  obeisance  to  her,  spoke  in 
his  usual  calm  and  measured  voice. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  Captain  Egremont  speaks  for 
me  as  well  as  for  himself,  and  I  speak  for  the  King  of 
France.  His  Majesty  will  wreak  a  dreadful  vengeance 
on  those  who  have  so  deeply  injured  you.  I  make  no 
apology  for  telling  your  Highness  that  you  must  leave 
this  den  of  thieves  within  the  hour.  I  and  Captain 
Egremont,  acting  for  His  Most  Christian  Majesty,  will 
take  your  Highness  away;  and  trust  to  us  to  punish 
every  man  and  woman  at  Orlamunde  who  has  injured 
you  ! " 

At  this,  he  looked  menacingly  at  the  Countess  Bertha, 
whom  everybody  had  forgotten. 

396 


Captain  Egremont  acts  as  Coachman 

"  I  thank  you,  my  lord  Duke,  and  Captain  Egre- 
mont," said  Michelle,  making  them  a  sweeping  and 
splendid  curtsey.  "I  leave  this  place,  as  you  say, 
within  the  hour." 

"  How,  madam  ?  "  feebly  demanded  the  Prince,  hav- 
ing at  last  found  his  tongue. 

"  Like  a  princess,  as  I  came  —  in  a  coach  and  six," 
replied  Michelle,  with  the  utmost  coolness. 

"  But  —  but  —  you  cannot  go,  madam.  I  will  not 
furnish  you  with  a  coach  and  six." 

At  this  the  Countess  Bertha  laughed,  and  Michelle 
smiled. 

"  The  coach  and  six  are  mine,  —  the  gift  of  my  aunt, 
the  Duchess  of  Beaumanoir,  on  my  marriage." 

"  I  will  forbid  my  servants  to  attend  you,"  cried  the 
Prince,  suddenly  becoming  violent, 

"Let  your  Highness  be  at  ease  about  that,"  said 
Roger  Egremont,  respectfully,  to  the  Princess.  "  I  am 
an  excellent  coachman,  and  will  drive  your  Highness's 
coach  and  six  to  Paris  with  pleasure." 

"And  I  will  be  your  Highness's  footman  on  this 
journey,"  added  Berwick.  "  I  would  recommend  your 
Highness  to  make  ready  for  your  departure,  for  it  is  now 
near  daybreak,  and  we  should  leave  with  the  dawn.  I 
will  remain  with  you,  to  protect  you,  while  you  make 
your  preparations  for  leaving  —  and  Mr.  Egremont  will 
see  that  the  coach  is  made  ready  immediately." 

"  I  go  to  order  the  coach,"  said  Roger.  "  Luckily, 
we  are  here  as  we  arrived  from  Mondberg,  and  my 
horse-pistol  is  in  the  holster  of  my  saddle.  A  horse- 
pistol  is  a  powerful  persuader  under  some  circumstan- 
ces.    I  beg  your  Highness  will  excuse  me." 

The  Princess  nodded  graciously,  and  Roger  went  out 
backward.     As  he  reached  the   door,  he  paused,  and 

397 


The  House  of  Egremont 

shaking  his  fist  at  the  Prince,  at  Sir  Hugo,  and  at  the 
Countess  Bertha,  he  bawled,  — 

"  O  generation  of  vipers !  infernal  scoundrels  that 
you  are !  As  for  you,  Hugo  Stein,  remember  your  life 
is  forfeit  to  me  a  thousand  times  over  —  and  prepare  you 
to  defend  it !  " 

"  I  will,"  replied  Hugo.  He  was  not  quite  so  happy 
as  he  had  been  five  minutes  before,  —  his  scheme  was 
not  working  out  so  well ;  but  he  said  boldly,  "  And 
make  you  ready,  Roger  Egremont,  to  defend  your  own 
life ;  for  by  God !  you  will  need  to." 

"I  shall,"  replied  Roger,  "and  know  you,  I  fear  you 
not  by  night  or  day,  with  arms  or  without,  on  foot  or  on 
horseback.  And  I  say  to  all  of  you  —  may  God's  ven- 
geance alight  on  you,  and  may  He  in  His  goodness 
make  me  the  instrument  of  it !  " 

And  as  he  shouted  out  the  words  in  his  rich,  full, 
resonant  voice,  came  through  the  open  door  a  burst  of 
triumphant  music,  louder  than  any  that  had  gone  before, 
as  if  in  applause  of  Roger  Egremont's  words. 

He  ran  at  full  speed  out  of  the  palace,  on  to  the  ter- 
race, where  a  sleepy  groom  was  walking  Merrylegs  and 
Berwick's  horse  up  and  down.  The  air  was  keen  and 
fresh ;  the  sky  was  like  a  great  dome  of  mother-of-pearl, 
with  glints  of  color  radiating  from  the  east  where  a  rosy 
flush  heralded  the  dawn.  Through  the  open  windows 
came  still  the  long,  drawn  sweetness  of  the  violins,  and 
the  candles  flickered  palely  in  the  coming  of  the  new  day. 

Roger  jumped  on  Merrylegs,  and  giving  him  the  spur 
galloped  off  to  the  palace  stables,  half  a  mile  away.  He 
roused  the  sleeping  people  by  beating  with  his  pistol-butt 
on  the  great  carved  doors  of  the  stables.  Some  faint 
protest  was  made  when  he  ordered  the  state  equipage 
of  the  Princess. 

398 


Captain  Egremont  acts  as  Coachman 

"  Where  is  your  order  ?  "  impudently  asked  the  head- 
groom. 

"  Here,"  replied  Roger,  clapping  his  pistol  to  the 
man's  head,  "  and  your  order  too." 

Three  men  then  jumped  to  do  his  bidding.  Quickly 
the  horses,  six  handsome  chestnuts  fresh  and  eager  for 
the  road,  were  harnessed;  Roger  stepped  upon  the 
lofty  box,  with  its  crimson  velvet  hammer-cloth 
embroidered  in  gold,  and  followed  by  Merrylegs,  liis 
bridle  hooked  to  the  footman's  strap  behind,  took  the 
reins,  and  laying  the  whip  upon  the  leaders,  the  coach 
lurched  forward  at  a  tremendous  pace. 

When  at  the  palace  doors,  he  brought  the  horses  down 
from  a  gallop.  Michelle  and  Berwick  were  standing  on 
the  marble  steps.  A  great  crowd  was  assembled,  for 
it  had  flashed  through  the  palace  like  lightning  that  the 
Princess  was  about  to  leave. 

Men,  pale  after  their  night's  revelry,  women,  painted, 
patched,  and  powdered,  stood  in  groups,  the  cruel  light 
of  morning  showing  them  off  hideously.  Even  the 
musicians,  with  their  instruments  in  their  arms,  hovered 
near  the  doorways,  and  servants  flocked  upon  the  ter- 
race.    Some  of  these  latter  were  weeping. 

The  Prince  walked  up  and  down  the  terrace,  his 
sickly  face  working  with  passion ;  tears  even  dropped 
down  his  sallow  cheeks.  And  from  a  huge  bull's-eye 
over  the  doorway,  Sir  Hugo  surveyed  the  scene.  He 
thought  himself  quite  safe  until  he  noted  the  pistol 
lying  in  the  box  seat  of  the  coach  beside  Roger,  who, 
catching  sight  of  his  half-brother,  raised  the  pistol,  and 
aiming  straight  at  the  bull's-eye,  fired.  Sir  Hugo 
dodged  just  in  time  —  the  glass  being  shattered  with  a 
loud  noise. 

Michelle  wore  a  black  hat,  and  a  large  black  mantle 

399 


The  House  of  Egremont 

lined  with  fur  covered  her  travelling-dress,  and  in  her 
hand  was  a  box  with  the  jewels  she  had  brought  to 
Orlamunde.  Berwick  in  one  hand  carried  a  small  port- 
manteau, while  with  the  other  he  gracefully  assisted 
Michelle.  When  she  reached  the  coach,  the  door  of 
which  Berwick  respectfully  held  open  for  her,  some  of 
the  servants  —  those  who  were  weeping  —  assembled 
aroimd  the  coach-door.  To  them,  Michelle  said  in  a 
gentle  voice,  — 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  faithful  service.  You  alone 
at  Monplaisir  deserve  that  I  should  say  farewell  to  you. 
All  of  my  wardrobe,  except  a  few  necessaries,  I  leave 
behind  for  you.  The  division  will  be  made  by  any  one 
of  you  whom  all  may  agree  in  selecting.  And  say  to 
the  poor  French  artisans  in  the  town  that  I  grieve  to 
leave  them  unprotected,  but  if  they  have  any  injuries 
to  complain  of  after  I  am  gone,  bid  them  write  to  me 
in  the  care  of  His  Most  Christian  Majesty  of  France. 
Good-bye,  and  God  bless  you." 

The  servants  bowed  low  and  murmurs  arose  of  — 

"  Good-bye,  your  Highness.  God  preserve  your 
Highness." 

Michelle  stepped  into  the  coach,  and  Berwick  shutting 
the  door  sprang  up  behind  in  the  footman's  place, 
throwing  at  the  same  time  the  bridle  of  Merrylegs  and 
his  own  horse  to  two  of  the  men-servants  who  had  been 
among  those  at  the  coach-door.  They  mounted  and 
followed. 

And  thus  in  her  coach  and  six,  with  an  English 
gentleman  of  a  great  and  ancient  family,  for  her  coach- 
man, and  an  English  duke  with  royal  blood  in  his  veins 
for  her  footman,  did  Michelle,  like  a  princess  as  she 
truly  said,  leave  Orlamunde. 


400 


ROGER    RAISED   THE   HIS  lUL    AINU   HKhU 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

ROGER    EGREMONT    HAS    HIS    LAST    FIGHT    WITH 
THE  DEVIL 

THE  Chateau  de  la  Rivifere  near  Pont-k-Mousson, 
as  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  had  said,  was  but  a 
rookery,  so  aged  and  decayed  it  was.  But  it  was  so 
exquisitely  placed,  it  was  so  quaint,  so  remote,  so  peace- 
ful ;  the  roses,  red  and  white,  which  climbed  all  over  the 
gray  walls  were  so  fragrant,  the  piu-ple  woods  were  so 
darkly  beautiful,  what  wonder  that  Roger  Egremont  and 
Michelle  thought  it  a  paradise?  For  they  were  there 
together  and  alone  in  the  sweetest  days  of  the  year,  the 
time  of  May  and  roses. 

On  leaving  Orlamunde,  Roger  had  driven  straight 
toward  the  French  frontier.  He  did  not  draw  rein,  and 
scarcely  drew  breath  until  they  were  beyond  Orlamunde, 
for  two  men  are  but  two  men  after  all,  and  Prince  Karl 
could  have  sent  five  hundred  after  them.  Arrived  at 
the  frontier  town,  though,  and  on  French  soil,  they  for 
the  first  time  had  leisure  to  think,  to  plan,  to  eat,  and 
to  sleep. 

Roger  left  everything  to  Berwick,  and  so  did  Mi- 
chelle. Berwick,  then,  promptly  decided  that  the 
cumbersome  coach  must  be  left  behind,  four  out  of  the 
six  horses  sold,  and  a  travelling-chaise  purchased.  A 
woman  attendant  was  secured  in  the  little  town  for 
Michelle,  and  it  was  arranged  that  Roger  should  escort 
her  as  far  as  Pont-k-Mousson,  where  she  knew  of  a 
26  401 


The  House  of  Egremont 

religious  house  she  could  enter  and  remain  in  until  she 
could  communicate  with  her  friends  at  St.  Germains. 
There  was  no  doubt  Frangois  Delaunay  would  be  sent 
after  her.  Roger  Egremont,  on  leaving  Michelle  at 
Pont-K-Mousson,  was  to  rejoin  Berwick  at  Strasburg, 
Berwick  meaning  not  to  go  too  far  from  Orlamunde 
until  the  guns  were  replaced  at  Mondberg  and  Arnheim, 
and  he  had  got  further  instructions  from  the  King  of 
France. 

And  how  had  Roger  Egremont  carried  out  this  plan  ? 
As  basely  as  Hugo  Stein  could  have  done. 

Of  course,  Roger  tried  to  lay  it  all  on  fate,  on  op- 
portunity, on  everything  except  that  tendency  to  evil 
which  dwells  in  every  man's  breast.  It  fell  out  so,  he 
argued  miserably  and  senselessly  to  himself.  At  the 
very  first  stage,  the  woman  attendant  had  repented  of 
her  bargain  to  go  to  Pont-^-Mousson,  and  had  slipped 
off  secretly  in  the  night.  So  Roger  and  Michelle  were 
left  without  any  travelling  companion. 

There  was,  however,  no  time  to  stop,  as  Berwick  and 
Roger  had  agreed  that  Michelle  should  be  got  as  far  from 
Orlamunde  and  as  quickly  as  possible.  Michelle  sug- 
gested that  they  should  make  for  this  old  ch§,teau  of 
la  Rivifere,  only  two  days'  hard  travel  off,  where  they 
could  rest  a  night,  get  an  attendant  for  her,  and  press 
on  to  Pont-a-Mousson.  This  seemed  the  only  feasible 
thing  to  do ;  so  they  set  forth  from  the  village  where 
the  treacherous  attendant  had  deserted  them,  and  made 
haste  to  reach  la  Riviere.  Roger  rode  Merrylegs,  and 
the  post-boys  drove  Michelle  in  the  chaise. 

They  reached  la  Rivifere  late  on  the  second  evening 
from  the  frontier.  They  found  an  old  man  and  his 
wife  in  charge,  whom  they  knocked  up  at  ten  o'clock 
at  night.     The   post-boys  were   dismissed,   old   Pierre 

402 


Roger's  Last  Fight  with  the  Devil 

cared  for  the  tired  horses,  and  old  Marianne  made  Roger 
and  Michelle  decently  comfortable  in  the  tumble-down 
old  chateau.  At  last  they  had  a  breathing  spell,  and 
Roger  slept  in  a  bed,  instead  of  sitting  in  a  chair  in  the 
corridor  near  Michelle's  door,  with  his  hand  on  his 
pistol,  as  he  had  done  for  two  nights  before. 

The  next  morning  both  of  them  slept  late ;  the  last 
three  days  were  calculated  to  try  the  soul  of  either  man 
or  woman.  What  wonder  was  it,  then,  that  when 
Roger  saw  how  weary  and  languid  Michelle  was,  he 
should  say  to  her  that  she  was  not  fit  to  travel  to 
Pont-k-Mousson  that  day,  and  should  rest  at  la  Riviere  ? 
So  much  with  a  good  conscience;  but  he  did  not  go 
farther,  as  a  gentleman  should,  and  take  horse  to  Pont- 
k-Mousson,  and  fetch  her  back  an  attendant  on  a  pillion 
behind  him,  so  that  Michelle  should  not  be  without  the 
constant  company  of  a  woman.  No.  The  Devil  did  not 
need  to  take  him  up  upon  a  high  mountain,  and  show 
him  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  in  order  to  seduce  him 
from  his  duty ;  all  the  fiend  had  to  do  was  to  picture 
forth  to  Roger's  imagination  the  fond  delight  of  a  day 
in  May,  at  that  lovely  secluded  spot,  alone  with  Mi- 
chelle. Of  course,  the  favorite  argument  of  Satan  was 
used  with  good  effect :  it  would  never  be  known.  And 
Michelle,  who  should  have  asked  him  to  go  to  Pont- 
a-Mousson,  if  he  had  not  so  offered,  listened  to  the 
same  argument  from  the  same  source.  Nay,  she  was 
even  more  casuistical  than  Roger,  and  tried  to  silence  her 
conscience  by  saying  to  herself  that  it  was  the  good 
God  who  had  given  her  this  one  day  with  the  man  she 
loved,  as  a  recompense  for  five  years  of  torment. 

They  would  certainly  go  on  to  Pont-k-Mousson  the 
next  day ;  of  that  there  was  no  doubt  whatever,  —  so 
each  one  declared  in  secret. 

403 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Old  Marianne  gave  them  some  breakfast,  and  then 
Michelle,  this  wearied  lady,  who  was  not  able  to  travel 
in  a  chaise  a  day's  ride,  suddenly  recovered  her  strength 
and  spirits.  When  Roger  said  that  it  was  not  prudent 
for  her  health  for  her  to  go  farther  until  the  next  day, 
her  face  became  so  illumined,  she  smiled  so  radiantly, 
the  faint  dimple  showing  in  her  cheek,  that  Roger  was 
dazed  with  joy,  and  thought  the  six  years  since  they 
had  made  hay  in  the  meadows  of  St.  Germains  must 
be  a  bad  dream.  And  when  he  remained  silent  on 
the  subject  of  his  going  to  Pont-a-Mousson,  Michelle 
did  not  so  much  as  once  remind  him  of  his  duty. 
She  acted  as  if  two  or  three  days  of  travel  could 
fatigue  him  completely  as  it  did  her  —  him.  Captain 
Roger  Egremont,  a  campaigner  in  the  Irish  Brigade. 

After  it  was  tacitly  settled  between  their  two  pairs 
of  eyes,  their  tongues  taking  no  part  in  the  debate,  that 
they  should  spend  that  day,  the  loveliest  May  day  ever 
seen,  together  and  alone  at  la  Rivifere,  each  saw  rapture 
in  the  face  of  the  other.  Roger  lay  back  in  his  chair 
on  one  side  of  the  table  where  they  had  been  break- 
fasting, and  Michelle  lay  back  in  her  chair  on  the  other 
side,  and  they  could  no  more  have  helped  smiling  than 
they  could  have  stopped  breathing. 

"  'T  is  a  heavenly  day,"  said  Roger.  "  We  must  see 
this  sweet  spot,  —  this  quaint  house,  the  park ;  we 
shall  have  one  whole  day  together."  And  there  was  a 
note  of  triumph  in  his  voice. 

After  breakfast,  they  started  out  on  their  exploring 
expedition.  In  the  night,  Roger  had  heard  the  rippling 
of  water  over  stones  ;  and  to  their  delight  they  found  a 
beautiful,  shallow,  clear,  little  river,  tinkling  under  the 
windows  of  an  old  saloon  with  its  moth-eaten  yellow 
satin  furniture.     And,  oh,  surprise  of  surprises !  there 

404 


Roger's  Last  Fight  with  the  Devil 

was  a  stone  bridge  across  the  water,  —  a  bridge  which 
some  dead  and  gone  Beaumanoir  had  built  for  de- 
fence; and  some  other  dead  and  gone  Beaumanoir 
had  conceived  the  notion  of  building  a  quaint  octagon 
room  on  this  bridge  ;  and  the  cushioned  window-seats 
of  this  room  looked  down  upon  the  crystal  flood  of  the 
little  river,  with  its  mossy  banks.  On  either  side  were 
willows,  dipping  almost  into  the  water,  making  dark 
places  where  the  silver  scales  of  fish  glinted. 

Michelle  —  the  weary  Michelle  —  walked  about  this 
room  with  the  quickest  and  lightest  step  imaginable, 
crying,  — 

"  Look,  Roger,  look  I  was  ever  anything  so  lovely,  so 
quaint,  so  delicious  ?  Oh,  this  place  was  meant  for 
happiness !  " 

When  she  called  him  Roger,  a  look  of  victory  came 
into  his  eyes,  and  he  took  her  hand ;  he  drew  her  to  a 
window-seat,  where  they  sat  down  together  and  looked 
into  each  other's  eyes  as  they  had  often  longed  and 
never  dared  to  before.  And  presently  they  averted 
their  eyes  and  gazed  down  upon  the  bright,  unquiet 
water.  The  roses,  which  rioted  over  everything,  had 
dared  to  cross  the  bridge  from  either  side,  and  a  great 
bold  red  one  audaciously  climbed  into  the  very  window 
where  they  sat,  and  smiled  into  the  two  happy  faces 
there.  The  birds  were  singing  rapturously ;  the  old 
place  had  been  so  quiet  and  deserted  that  the  birds  felt 
they  owned  it,  but  they  did  not  resent  the  intrusion 
of  another  pair  of  lovers,  —  it  was  the  mating  time  of 
all.  The  old  room  itself  was  charming.  Roger  called 
Michelle's  attention  to  a  shelf  full  of  old  books ;  and  recog- 
nizing a  dear  friend  from  whom  he  had  long  been  parted, 
he  rose  and  fetched  the  volume  to  her.  It  was  Ronsard, 
—  Ronsard,  whose  poems  Roger  had  recited  to  her  in 

405 


The  House  of  Egremont 

that  never-to-be-forgotten  journey,  —  Ronsard,  whose 
songs  he  had  sung  to  his  guitar.  They  turned  the  old, 
yellow  leaves,  in  quaint  black-letter  print  and  antique 
French,  reading  a  little  to  each  other  now  and  then. 
There  was  one  little  poem  about  love,  and  youth,  and 
a  sunny  sky  being  all  that  one  could  ask  in  this  life. 
Roger  read  this  to  Michelle,  and  saw  her  eyes  grow  dark, 
and  a  flush  mount  to  her  pale  cheek,  just  as  he  had  seen 
five  years  before  ;  and  then,  suddenly,  he  burst  out  with 
the  story  of  that  other  volume  of  Ronsard,  which  he  had 
thrown  on  the  camp  fire  in  the  Low  Countries. 

"  I  burnt  it  trying  to  forget  you,"  he  said. 

"  But  you  did  not  forget  me,"  Michelle  replied  softly. 

It  was  very  wrong.  They  had  begun  to  have  a  sus- 
picion that  God  had  nothing  in  particular  to  do  with 
their  determination  to  spend  that  day  together,  —  but  it 
was  only  a  single  day.  There  could  be  no  great  harm 
in  one  day  of  each  other's  society,  —  so  they  argued  to 
themselves.  Never  had  they  had  one  whole  day  of 
each  other's  society,  and  Fate  would  not  soon  again  be 
so  kind  to  them.  Fate  had  by  that  time  taken  the 
place  of  God  in  the  affair.  Truly,  it  was  neither 
God  nor  Fate,  but  the  devil. 

At  noonday  Marianne  gave  them  a  dinner  of  herbs, 
which  both  of  them  relished  as  the  most  delicious  meal 
they  had  ever  eaten,  for  the  same  reason  that  Solomon 
gave  on  a  similar  occasion  —  there  was  love  therewith. 
In  the  afternoon  they  walked  about  the  small,  over- 
grown, and  deserted  park  and  gardens.  The  place  was 
at  all  times  lonely  and  secluded,  but  it  had  likewise 
been  deserted  for  many  years,  and  so  it  gave  them  a 
heavenly  sense  of  aloneness.  They  watched  from  a 
moss-grown  bench  under  a  great  clump  of  myrtle 
trees  the  sun  set  and  the    moon  rise,  and  a  wind  like 

406 


Roger's  Last  Fight  with  the  Devil 

velvet  softly  moved  the  tender  leaves.  There  were 
roses  all  about  them,  and  a  nightingale  sang  in  the 
hedge  close  by.  It  was  late  before  they  returned; 
but  there  was  no  one  to  question  them  or  make  them 
afraid.  They  had  both  dreamed  continuously,  during 
five  years  past,  of  the  bliss  of  being  together.  One 
day  of  it  had  far  surpassed  all  their  expectations. 

The  next  morning  a  soft  and  silvery  rain  was  fall- 
ing upon  the  grateful  earth.  It  was  impossible  to 
start  in  such  weather,  —  so  said  Roger;  and  Michelle, 
averting  her  eyes,  said,  Yes ;  it  was  impossible.  Never- 
theless, when  the  sun  flickered  out,  turning  the  silver 
rain  to  gold,  they  must  both  go  out  in  the  park  to 
see  the  lovely,  dreamlike  beauty  of  the  raining  and 
the  shining.  Toward  afternoon  a  storm  came  up, 
and  there  was  heavy  thunder  and  sharp  lightning. 
Michelle  was  frightened,  and  cowered  on  a  moth-eaten 
sofa  in  one  of  the  remote  saloons.  Roger  sat  by  her, 
comforting  her,  and  gently  laughing  at  her  terror. 
The  storm  continued  until  evening,  when  it  settled 
into  a  steady  downpour.  It  grew  cold,  and  old  Pierre 
made  them  a  morsel  of  fire  in  the  fireplace  of  the 
little  room  over  the  bridge,  and  brought  them  a  couple 
of  candles,  and  laid  their  supper  on  a  round  table 
close  to  the  fire. 

The  little  river  was  now  roaring,  swollen  by  the  rain, 
under  their  feet. 

"  There  will  be  no  travelling  to-morrow,"  Roger 
ventured.  "  The  roads  will  be  very  heavy.  The 
horses  are  scarce  rested  enough  to  take  the  road,  and,  no 
doubt,  all  the  bridges  are  washed  away." 

Most  of  this  was  a  lie,  and  Roger  remembered  the 
old  saying  :  "  Sin  has  many  tools,  but  a  lie  is  the  handle 
which  fits  them  all."     Yes,  he  was  lying,  and  he  knew 

407 


The  House  of  Egremont 

it  —  and  Michelle  knew  it ;  but  she  wished  to  hear  just 
such  lies  as  that. 

If  the  day  was  sweet  and  intimate,  what  was  the 
evening,  spent  with  no  company  but  their  own  and  that 
of  their  dear  Pierre  Ronsard?  They  were  as  far 
separated  from  the  rest  of  the  universe  as  if  they  were 
on  a  planet  of  their  own.  There  were  no  words  to 
express  their  deep  delight. 

It  was  late  before  they  parted,  and  early  next  morn- 
ing when  they  met ;  and  neither  on  that  morning  nor  any 
other  morning  did  Roger  Egremont  —  this  gentleman 
who  prided  himself  upon  his  virgin  honor,  his  life 
open  as  day,  his  reverence  for  a  woman's  name  and 
fame  —  propose  to  the  Princess  of  Orlamunde,  a  wife 
fugitive  from  her  husband  and  intrusted  to  his  care,  to 
proceed  one  step  upon  her  way.  And  Michelle  —  this 
woman  whose  path  had  been  like  that  of  a  star  —  trem- 
bled every  day,  when  the  sun  rose,  lest  Roger  should 
say,  "  Come,  we  must  be  going." 

As  if  it  were  not  enough  that  they  had  long  felt 
themselves  born  for  each  other,  they  discovered  in  this 
daily  companionship  a  multitude  and  variety  of  intel- 
lectual gifts  in  common,  and  their  tastes  seemed  to  coin- 
cide to  a  miracle.  All  the  things  which  Roger  Egre- 
mont had  loved  during  his  whole  life,  and  had  never 
expected  to  find  any  human  being  to  sympathize  fully 
with,  he  discovered  Michelle  also  loved  and  understood. 
Neither  one  of  them,  in  their  wildest  dreaming,  had 
imagined  how  entirely  each  would  suffice  for  the  other. 
They  never  had  a  weary  or  dull  moment.  There 
was  nothing,  from  politics  and  campaigning  to  the 
harvesting  of  wheat,  in  which  Michelle  did  not  prove  an 
intelligent  companion.  In  some  things,  in  the  politics  of 
Europe,  for   example,    she  was   better   informed   than 

408 


Roger's  Last  Fight  with  the  Devil 

Roger  was ;  but  she  used  her  knowledge  so  gracefully 
and  discreetly  that  it  did  not  ever  offend  his  masculine 
self-love.  She  was,  by  far,  the  most  intellectual  woman  he 
had  ever  known  ;  and  besides  all  her  gifts  and  graces,  she 
had,  in  perfection,  all  those  delicate  reserves  which 
a  woman  should  have,  the  want  of  which  had  always 
shocked  Roger  in  poor  Bess  Lukens.  Although  every 
hour  she  remained  at  la  Riviere  Michelle  risked  her 
name  and  fame,  yet  did  she  as  scrupulously  observe 
etiquette  as  if  she  had  been  living  in  the  palace  of 
Versailles,  with  two  thousand  pairs  of  critical  eyes  fixed 
on  her.  When  Roger,  one  day,  tried  to  converse  with 
her  as  she  stood  at  her  bedroom  window,  she  shut  the 
window  in  his  face,  and  sharply  rated  him  afterward  for 
his  impropriety.  On  the  night  of  their  arrival,  old 
Marianne  had  given  him  a  bed  in  a  dark  closet  of  a 
room,  next  her  own,  and  he  could  only  reach  it  either 
by  going  outside  or  going  through  old  Marianne's  room. 
He  would  have  dearly  liked  one  of  the  pleasant  rooms 
in  the  upper  part  of  the  building,  but  he  never  had  the 
courage  to  suggest  changing  his  wretched  quarters,  well 
knowing  that  he  would  not  be  allowed  to.  Never  did 
two  people  more  strictly  observe  all  the  outward  canons 
of  decorum  than  these  two  lovers,  shut  up  together  in 
that  lonel}'-,  sweet  place  ;  and  never  did  two  people  place 
themselves  in  a  position  where  this  decorum  would  be 
more  incredulously  received  if  they  should  assert  it. 

Every  day  they  spent  together  the  devil  provided 
them  with  some  new  source  of  pleasure.  In  a  dark  cup- 
board Roger  found  an  old  viol  de  gamba.  He  glued  it 
together,  restrung  it,  and  found  in  it  endless  pleasure. 
To  it  he  sang  those  love  songs  which  made  Michelle's 
eyes  shine  like  stars.  And  then  —  oh,  joy,  discovering 
that  Michelle  had  some  knowledge  of  the  viol,  he  taught 

409 


The  House  of  Egremont 

her  the  accompaniments.     She  was  quick  to  learn,  but 

she  ever  seemed  to  need  more  teaching,  and  then  — 
their  hands  and  eyes  met.  And  Roger,  giving  poignant 
meaning  to  all  those  burning  words,  sang  as  she  played, 
watching  the  color  come  and  go  in  her  cheek.  Then 
there  were  long  afternoons  spent  in  the  woods,  hunt- 
ing the  wild  roses,  which  bloomed  late  in  those  ferny 
depths.  And  there  were  long,  sweet  moonlit  evenings, 
when  the  nightingales  sang  to  them  as  they  walked 
up  and  down  the  terrace,  under  the  quivering  aspen 
leaves,  which  made  black  shadows  on  the  white  earth. 
Oh,  how  keen  was  their  joy ! 

Even  their  homeliest  wants  brought  with  them  charm 
and  amusement  and  pleasure.  Roger  gave  old  Pierre 
a  long  string  of  names,  such  as  Chief  Steward,  Master 
of  the  Horse,  Groom  of  the  Chambers,  and  Cellarer. 
Michelle  called  Marianne  her  Lady-in-Waiting,  Mistress 
of  the  Robes,  and  femme  de  chambre. 

There  was  some  antiquated  table  furniture  found  in 
the  cupboards  and  closets  of  the  old  chateau,  but  there 
was  only  one  porcelain  teacup.  Over  this  teacup  Roger 
and  Michelle  made  merry,  squabbled  like  children,  and 
had  endless  amusement.  They  even  had  that  luxury  of 
luxuries  —  a  lovers'  quarrel.  Roger,  setting  a  trap  in  the 
woods,  as  he  had  often  done  when  a  lad  at  Egremont, 
caught  a  hare.  Michelle  insisted  that  he  should  set  it 
free ;  Roger  declared  it  would  make  excellent  soup. 
He  released  the  little  creature  at  last,  but  he  showed 
some  temper  and  crossness  in  the  doing ;  Michelle  grew 
cold  to  him,  and  they  had  the  pleasure  of  quarrelling 
and  the  rapture  of  reconciliation. 

Their  quiet,  intimate  talk,  day  by  day,  covered  many 
subjects,  and  avoided  others.  Neither  spoke  of  the  past 
except  in  connection  with  the  other.     Especially  did 

410 


Roger's  Last  Fight  with  the  Devil 

they  wish  that  the  memory  of  the  last  five  unhappy 
years  should  be  lost  in  oblivion,  as  a  prisoner  would 
drop  his  manacles  into  the  ocean,  never  to  be  seen  or 
heard  of  again.  And  into  that  same  ocean,  they  felt, 
as  every  day  they  spent  together  passed,  that  a  pearl 
had  been  dropped. 

They  did  not  speak  of  the  future  at  all,  nor  indeed 
suffer  themselves  so  much  as  to  think  of  it.  For  them 
there  was  neither  past  nor  future,  —  only  the  present 
hour ;  and  the  golden  glow  of  each  hour  together  eclipsed 
all  that  had  gone  before,  and  made  them  careless  as  to 
what  was  to  come  afterward. 

But  in  the  midst  of  this  deep  delight,  were  they 
happy  ?  No !  a  thousand  times  no !  They  were  not 
guilt}'",  but  before  them  always  yawned  an  abyss,  —  an 
.abyss  into  which  each  might  plunge  the  other.  And 
already,  as  far  as  the  verdict  of  the  world  might  go, 
they  were  lost  in  this  abyss.  Roger  had  agreed  to  take 
upon  himself  the  charge  of  Michelle,  from  an  honorable 
man  like  Berwick.  How  could  he  meet  Berwick's  eye 
again  ?  He  positively  trembled  and  broke  out  in  a 
cold  sweat  when  he  thought  of  it ;  and  that  was  but  a 
part  of  what  he  had  to  fear.  And  Michelle  —  for  her 
husband's  sins  against  her  might  be  shed  the  blood  of 
honest  men ;  her  King  and  benefactor  might  take  ven- 
geance for  her  wrongs ;  and  what  would  be  his  position 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  when  it  came  out,  where  and 
how  and  with  whom  she  had  passed  her  time  since 
leaving  Orlamunde?  Many  nights  this  thought  drove 
her  from  her  bed,  and  Roger,  awake  too,  and  fighting 
with  his  conscience,  would  hear  above  him  her  light 
step,  as  she  walked  the  floor  in  her  anguish. 

Neither  of  them  had  ever  tried  living  without  the 
approval  of  the  conscience;   for,  whatever  wrong  and 

411 


The  House  of  Egremont 

folly  Michelle  had  committed  at  Orlamunde,  she  was 
just  enough  to  herself  to  know  she  had  not  committed 
it  wilfully,  or  willingly,  or  wantonly;  she  had  been 
driven  to  it  by  the  gang  of  miscreants  who  had  surrounded 
her.  But  no  one  forced  her  to  remain  at  la  Rivifere; 
she  stayed  because  she  had  neither  the  wish  nor  the  will 
to  leave  it  —  and  she  dared  not  think  much  on  this ; 
that  way,  madness  lay. 

And  so  it  was  with  Roger  Egremont.  His  honor  was 
as  his  life,  and  he  was  now  living  in  defiance  of  it.  In 
many  ways  this  new  conduct  of  his,  new  because  it 
was  base,  affected  him  strangely.  He  had  been  wont 
to  ride  abroad,  to  see  and  speak  with  his  fellow-men. 
Now  he  would  not  go  near  the  highway,  albeit  there 
was  no  danger  of  his  being  recognized;  he  did  not 
want  to  see  the  face  of  any  of  his  kind  ^except  Michelle. 
Even  the  occasional  presence  of  old  Pierre  and  Marianne 
was  often  distasteful  to  him. 

There  were  no  houses  nor  even  a  peasant's  hut  in 
sight  from  the  windows,  but  on  a  neighboring  hill  was 
a  little  old  church.  It  could  not  be  seen,  but  the  sound 
of  the  church  bell  could  be  heard ;  a  singularly  rich  and 
sonorous  bell,  which  some  echo  of  the  neighboring  hill- 
sides repeated  with  beautiful  effect.  When,  at  morn- 
ing and  evening,  this  bell  set  up  its  melodious  clangor, 
Michelle  always  turned  pale,  —  it  seemed  to  be  an  ac- 
cusing voice,  Roger,  on  those  occasions,  would  snatch 
up  the  viol  and  sing  to  it  some  merry  chansonette  — 
perhaps  that  gay  song  which  so  often  rang  out  at  the 
inn  of  Michot. 

"  Amis,  passons-le  gaiment!  " 

But  it  made  a  discord,  a  horrid  discord,  with  that  deep 

and  serene  music  —  that  clear,  angelic  call  to  prayer  and 

repentance  of  the  bell. 

412 


Roger's  Last  Fight  with  the  Devil 

It  may,  in  short,  be  judged  how  happy  they  were  in 
the  Paradise  of  their  own  seeking,  when  it  is  told  that 
Roger,  after  a  while,  began  to  be  haunted  by  a  dreadful 
apprehension  about  Michelle;  he  lived  in  terror  that 
she  might,  some  delicious  day,  or  some  wretched  night, 
throw  herself  into  the  river.  Something  in  her  eyes, 
when  she  heard  the  sound  of  the  church  bell,  frightened 
him.  And  on  those  nights  when  she  walked  the  floor 
all  night,  he  came,  after  a  time,  to  rise,  and  open  his 
outer  door,  which  looked  on  to  the  little  brawling  stream, 
so  that  if  he  should  see  a  white  figure  fluttering  down, 
he  could  save  it.  And  something  of  the  same  idea  came 
to  Michelle. 

One  day,  sitting  in  the  bridge-room,  she  inadvertently 
spoke  of  Berwick. 

They  had  tacitly  avoided  talking  of  persons,  be- 
cause if  these  persons  were  good,  Roger  Egremont 
and  the  Princess  of  Orlamunde  would  be  scorned 
by  them ;  and  if  bad,  this  gentleman  and  lady  would 
be  reckoned  fit  company  for  them.  But  on  this  day 
Michelle,  for  once  forgetting  where  she  stood,  talked 
of  Berwick.  She  glanced  at  Roger,  and  saw  that 
his  face  had  turned  pale  under  his  tan  and  sunburn. 
She  stopped  at  once,  and  a  painful  silence  came 
between  them,  broken  by  Roger's  saying,  in  a  trem- 
ulous voice,  — 

"Some  day,  I  shall  have  to  meet  Berwick  —  and 
then  —  " 

He  rose  and  literally  fled  from  the  room.  Presently 
she  heard  a  noise  below,  and  looking  out  of  the  window, 
saw  Roger,  in  the  doorway  of  his  wretched  chamber, 
hammering  at  his  horse-pistol.  She  too  ran  out  of  the 
room,  but  when  she  came  within  his  sight  as  she  turned 
the  corner  of  the  building,  she  walked  sedately  enough. 

413 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Going  straight  up  to  him,  and  looking  him  full  in  the 
eye,  she  said  to  him  calmly,  — 

"  Roger,  give  me  this  pistol,"  and  took  it  out  of  his 
hand. 

Roger  gazed  at  her  stupidly. 

"I  —  I  —  was  but  putting  it  in  order," he  stammered. 
"I  was  not  thinking  of  —  of  —  killing  myself.  How 
ridiculous!  But  I  don't  know  why  I  should  have 
thought  of  the  pistol  at  this  moment.  Only,  when  I 
thought  of  meeting  Berwick,  the  notion  of  seeing  if 
my  pistol  were  in  good  condition,  came  to  me  in  the 
strangest,  strangest  way ! " 

All  that  day,  they  were  constrained  in  each  other's 
company  —  for  the  first  time.  In  the  afternoon  Roger 
went  out  alone.  He  did  not  come  back  until  toward 
sunset,  and  as  it  was  then  June,  the  sun  was  late  in 
setting.  He  came  up  to  Michelle,  as  she  sat  on  the 
window-seat  of  the  bridge-room,  trifling  with  some 
embroidery.  He  looked  wearied,  as  if  he  had  walked 
far  and  fast.  "  Here,"  he  said,  throwing  himself  in  a 
chair,  and  holding  out  one  of  his  strong,  brown  hands 
to  her,  "  I  have  got  a  thorn  in  my  hand ;  will  you  get 
it  out?" 

Michelle,  to  see  the  better  in  the  waning  light,  got 
upon  one  knee,  and  took  his  hand  in  her  two  small, 
soft  ones.  She  trembled,  and  was  so  agitated  that  she 
could  not  see  the  thorn.  As  she  bent  her  head  over, 
her  rich  dark  hair  escaped  from  the  golden  net  which 
had  confined  it,  and  fell  over  her  like  a  veil.  A  faint, 
wandering,  vagrant  breeze  swept  it  also  over  Roger 
Egremont's  shoulder.  He  caught  it  in  his  free  hand 
and  kissed  passionately  the  silky  tresses,  and  Michelle 
suddenly  found  the  two  hands,  which  were  trying  to 
get  the  thorn  out,  imprisoned  in  a  grasp  like  fate.     She 

414 


Roger's  Last   Fight  with  the  Devil 

felt  the  thorn  then ;  it  cut  into  her  hand  as  into  Roger's ; 
but  neither  drew  apart,  or  flinched  from  the  pain. 
They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  and  actually  smiled ; 
the  pangs  of  the  thorn  they  bore  with  joy,  as  a  type  of 
the  joy  with  which  they  would  bear  the  pangs  of  love 
such  as  theirs  must  bring.  But  in  the  midst  of  their 
exaltation  came,  from  afar,  through  the  open  window, 
over  the  woods  and  fields  and  rocks,  the  chiming  of  the 
church  bell.  It  smote  the  air  with  music,  the  sweet 
sound  of  it  delicately  overbore  the  murmur  of  the  river, 
and  faint  and  soft  as  it  was,  it  seemed  to  fill  the  heavens 
and  the  earth  as  did  the  grand  diapason  of  the  great 
cathedral  bells  at  Meaux. 

Instinctively,  and  at  the  same  moment,  they  remem- 
bered Meaux.  They  had  listened  with  joy  to  the  mighty 
clanging  of  those  noble  bells  on  that  spring  morning, 
more  than  five  years  before,  because  then  both  were 
innocent,  high-minded,  serene  in  the  consciousness  of 
right  living.  But  now  —  but  now —  Michelle  rose,  as 
pale  as  a  ghost.  Roger  did  not  detain  her  a  moment. 
She  went  slowly  from  the  room,  and  when  she  reached 
the  door,  turned,  and  looked  back  a  full  minute  at 
Roger.  Her  glance  was  not  one  of  reproach ;  her  eyes 
said  as  plainly  as  her  lips  could  have  said,  — 

"  I  love  you  —  I  love  you  —  I  love  you." 

He  did  not  see  her  again  that  night.  She  sent  word  to 
him  at  supper  time  that  she  felt  ill  and  would  remain  in 
her  room.  He  asked  no  questions,  but  ate  his  solitary- 
supper  in  sullen  silence.  He  felt  ill  too  —  very  ill  in 
mind  —  so  ill,  in  fact,  that  he  was  driven  forth,  as  in 
most  of  the  crises  of  his  life,  to  spend  the  whole  night 
out  of  doors,  under  the  solemn  stars. 

He  walked  about  in  the  park,  through  the  whole  night, 
an   angel   and  a  devil  wrestling   within  him.     Should 

415 


The  House  of  Egremont 

he  let  Michelle  go  away,  —  for  after  that  last  meet- 
ing, he  felt  sure  she  would  make  some  sort  of  a  struggle 
to  leave  him,  —  or  should  he  make  her  stay  ?  He  was 
torn  with  agony  between  these  two  thoughts.  He  had 
always  found  some  comfort  before  in  the  silent  com- 
panionship of  his  mother.  Nature,  but  she  had  no  con- 
solation for  him  in  this.  He  saw  the  moon  rise  and 
sink,  and  the  faint  glory  of  the  dawn,  and  he  was  farther 
away  from  a  resolve  than  he  had  been  when  he  had  first 
wrestled  with  himself.  Suddenly,  it  was  just  at  five 
o'clock  on  a  June  morning,  he  heard  the  church  bell 
again.  It  was  like  a  voice  from  Heaven.  It  cast  him 
upon  his  knees  on  the  green  earth,  in  the  forest,  to  ask 
for  light  and  help,  and  instantly  light  and  help  came  to 
him.  He  would  spare  the  woman  he  loved.  He  had 
loved  her  with  a  true  and  honorable  love,  and  true  and 
honorable  should  his  love  remain.  He  adored  God  and 
thanked  Him  for  His  mercy  in  bringing  His  unworthy 
servant  to  a  knowledge  of  sin.  For  the  first  time  since 
his  boyhood  he  wept,  wept  tears  of  penitence  and  of 
thankfulness,  and  those  burning  drops  washed  his  soul 
and  made  it  clean  again.  The  bell  continued  its  sweet 
chiming ;  it  sounded  to  Roger  Egremont  like  the  pseans 
of  angels  rejoicing  over  one  sinner  doing  penance. 

He  rose  presently  to  his  feet,  and  walked  rapidly 
back  to  the  chateau.  He  was  once  more  Roger  Egre- 
mont, a  gentleman.  He  was  humbled  when  he  reflected 
that  twice  in  his  life  he  had  come  within  a  frightful 
chance  of  utterly  losing  himself,  —  the  miserable  time 
when  he  was  first  cast  into  Newgate,  and  the  delicious 
hours  he  had  spent  at  la  Riviere.  He  promised  that, 
having  been  so  great  a  sinner  himself,  he  would  never 
look  with  anything  but  pity  on  the  greatest  sinner  that 
walked  the  earth. 

416 


Roger's  Last  Fight  with  the  Devil 

As  he  made  his  way  toward  the  chateau,  his  acute 
and  practical  mind  began  to  work  out  the  actual  solu- 
tion of  the  entanglements  he  had  brought  on  Michelle 
and  himself.  He  would  see  her  as  soon  as  she  arose. 
He  would  take,  as  he  deserved,  all  the  blame  upon  him- 
self for  the  cruel  position  in  which  he  had  placed  her, 
and  humbly  beg  her  pardon  as  he  had  begged  that  of 
his  Maker,  He  felt  sure  of  her  forgiveness  and  of  her 
love.  They  might  never  be  united,  but  neither  could 
ever  doubt  the  other.  They  would,  of  course,  devise 
an  immediate  plan  for  leaving  la  Rivifere.  He  would 
probably  go  straight  to  Pont-a-Mousson,  to  the  religious 
house  of  which  she  had  spoken  before  they  had  reached 
la  Riviere ;  she  had  never  so  much  as  mentioned  it  to 
him  since.  He  would  make  a  frank  confession  to  the 
Mother  Superior,  who  was  sure  to  be  a  discreet  woman 
and  kindly.  So  much  was  due  her,  and  with  her  help 
it  would  be  easy  enough  to  keep  quiet  the  time  — 
thirty-seven  days;  he  knew  the  exact  number  —  which 
Michelle  had  spent  at  la  Rivifere.  After  taking  Michelle 
to  Pont-k-Mousson,  he  would  join  Berwick.  He  divined 
that  Michelle  would  exact  that  he  should  confess  all 
to  Berwick,  and  that,  as  a  man  of  honor,  he  was  pre- 
pared to  do. 

When  he  reached  the  chateau,  he  thought  he  had 
never  seen  the  old  gray  pile  so  lovely,  so  inviting,  as 
in  the  dewy  freshness  of  the  morning.  He  stopped 
under  Michelle's  window,  and  his  aspiration  was  like 
a  prayer.  It  was  still  so  early  that  he  thought  he 
would  snatch  an  hour's  sleep  ;  he  began  to  feel  the 
fatigue  which  follows  upon  many  hours  of  exhausting 
emotions,  and  going  to  his  dingy  little  room,  he  threw 
himself,  dressed,  upon  his  bed  and  instantly  fell  into 
a  delicious  slumber.  He  thought  he  had  slept  but 
27  417 


The  House  of  Egremont 

an  hour,  when  he  waked  and  tumbled  out  of  bed.  As 
he  opened  the  door  leading  outward,  sunshine  flooded 
the  room,  and  he  saw  that  it  was  near  noon.  Cursing 
himself  for  a  sluggard,  he  glanced  involuntarily  at 
Michelle's  window.  It  was  closed,  nor  was  the  window 
in  the  bridge-room  open. 

A  deadly  presentiment  struck  his  heart.  Instead  of 
going  into  the  chateau  and  calling  softly  for  Michelle, 
as  he  usually  did  when  he  did  not  see  her,  he  called 
loudly  for  Marianne.  The  old  woman  was  long  in 
coming,  but  presently  she  appeared. 

"  Where  is  the  Princess  Michelle  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Gone,"  coolly  replied  the  old  Marianne.  "  She  left 
a  letter  for  you,  which,  however,  I  am  not  to  give  you 
until  to-night." 

Roger  seized  her  roughly. 

"  Give  me  that  letter  instantly,"  he  shouted  in  her 
ear. 

Old  Marianne  was  obstinate. 

"  You  may  strike  me  if  you  like,  but  I  will  not  give 
you  the  letter  an  hour  before  my  lady  told  me,"  she 
answered,  doggedly. 

And  Roger  Egremont,  this  honorable  gentleman,  whose 
creed  was  gentleness  to  women,  who  had  gone  to  sleep  a 
penitent  man,  resolving  to  do  right  even  if  it  required 
the  crucifixion  of  the  soul,  fell  into  the  most  unseemly 
passion  imaginable.  The  devil  in  a  man  dies  hard,  and 
even  after  he  is  conquered  he  can  give  much  trouble. 
Roger  Egremont,  this  strong,  weather-beaten  man,  was 
unnerved  and  unstrung  by  the  strain  of  furious  emotions 
from  which  he  had  suffered  the  whole  night,  and  these 
words  of  Marianne's  seemed  altogether  unbearable  to 
him.  He  began  to  storm  and  swear  frightfully  at  her ; 
he  did  everything,  this  chivalrous  Captain  Egremont, 

418 


Roger's  Last  Fight  with  the  Devil 

but  strike  the  poor  old  woman.  Nay,  in  his  eagerness 
to  find  the  letter,  he  rushed  into  her  poverty-stricken 
room ;  he  turned  her  poor  belongings  upside  down,  threw 
her  few  wretched  sticks  of  furniture  about,  and  behaved 
like  a  ruffian  and  a  madman.  Such  is  human  nature 
at  its  worst,  even  in  an  honest  man,  when  he  is  cruelly 
balked.  But  he  could  not  find  the  letter.  He  then 
condescended  to  beg.  He  offered  the  old  woman  half 
the  money  he  had,  all  of  it,  if  only  she  would  give  him 
the  letter.  But  his  previous  conduct  had  aroused  all  the 
doggedness  in  an  obstinate  nature.  Marianne  would 
not  give  him  the  letter. 

And  Pierre  had  gone,  and  the  chaise  and  the  post- 
horses.  He  easily  tracked  them  to  the  front  of  the 
chateau.  Yes,  there  was  the  very  imprint  of  Michelle's 
delicate  feet  in  the  mossy  earth.  She  had  got  into  the 
chaise  at  the  foot  of  the  terrace,  and  the  wheel  tracks 
passed  through  the  park,  and  into  the  highroad,  half 
a  mile  away.     Then  they  were  lost. 

He  had  some  wild  idea  of  mounting  his  horse  and 
pursuing  Michelle  —  but  where  ?  He  knew  nothing 
of  the  country,  and  could  have  no  inkling  of  the  direc- 
tion she  had  taken.  No.  In  the  midst  of  his  wildness 
he  realized  that  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  wait  for 
the  letter. 

He  returned  to  the  ch§,teau  as  nearly  mad  as  a  sane 
man  could  be.  To  desert  him  in  that  manner !  Had 
she,  then,  ever  truly  loved  him?  Yesterday — last  night 
—  this  morning  —  what  answer  would  his  heart  have 
given  him?  But  now —  He  struck  his  forehead  and 
swore  to  himself  that  she  had  never,  never  loved  him 

He  had  a  dreadful  conviction  that  the  thing  was  final 
with  her ;  and  going  all  over  the  chateau,  and  wander- 
ing amid  the  grounds  was  like  going  to  the  old  familiar 

419 


The  House  of  Egremont 

places  the  day  that  the  one  who  made  them  bright  has 
been  laid  in  the  earth.  Yes,  —  this  was  the  very  spot 
in  the  bridge-room  where  they  had  sat  the  evening 
before.  Not  even  the  chair  had  been  moved  in  which 
he  had  sat  when  she  knelt  before  him,  and  her  hair  had 
fallen  upon  his  shoulder.  On  the  window-seat  lay  her 
embroidery,  just  as  her  hand  had  dropped  it.  Close 
to  it  lay  the  volume  of  Ronsard.  The  place  they  had 
last  read  was  marked  with  some  rose  leaves;  she  had 
gathered  them  from  the  bold  marauder  whose  lovely 
face  had  laughed  in  at  the  window  —  and  those  leaves 
were  not  yet  withered. 

In  the  old  saloon  was  the  viol.  Roger  had  thrown 
it  down  carelessly  on  a  table.  Michelle,  with  a  wo- 
man's orderly  instinct,  had  put  it  in  its  case,  and 
carefully  closed  it.  That  had  been  only  twenty-hours 
before. 

These  things  almost  broke  his  heart.  As  sunset 
approached  he  went  back  to  the  bridge-room  and  sul- 
lenly threw  himself  into  the  same  chair  in  which  he  had 
sat  when  last  he  saw  Michelle  vanish  through  the  door. 
It  came  to  him  that  there  was  something  like  farewell 
in  that  last  long  look,  and  the  memory  of  it  softened 
him.  Love  was  in  her  eyes ;  the  mere  recollection  of 
that  look  was  convincing.  Dwelling  upon  it,  he  fell 
into  a  better  frame  of  mind,  and  gradually  he  came  to 
his  other  self.  And  when  the  evening  shadows  lay 
upon  the  land,  and  the  dying  light  wrapped  all  the  earth 
in  its  soft,  mysterious  splendor,  and  the  unseen  bell 
echoed  sweetly  from  the  hill,  Roger  Egremont,  changed 
and  melted,  cried  out  aloud  in  his  agitation,  "  Michelle, 
Michelle,  forgive  me  !     Forgive  me,  Michelle !  " 

As  if  in  answer  to  this,  her  letter  was  thrown  in  to 
him  at  the  window.     This  is  it,  — 

420 


Roger's  Last  Fight  with  the  Devil 

"You  will  know  why  I  went  secretly,  and  why  I  have 
caused  you  to  spend  this  day  of  misery.  If  I  had  once 
seen  you,  I  never  could  have  left  you.  I  go  to  Pont-a- 
Mousson.  I  shall  be  there  when  you  receive  this  letter. 
Forgive  me,  dearest.  But  for  me,  we  should  not  have 
remained  a  single  day  at  la  Riviere.  It  is  I,  and  I  alone 
who  am  to  blame ;  and  the  greatest  blame  of  all  is  that  I 
should  have  made  you,  the  soul  of  honor,  act  dishonorably. 
For  that  I  implore  your  forgiveness.  I  ask  you  to  confess 
all  to  the  Duke  of  Berwick.  I  feel  sure  that  he  can  save 
you  from  the  consequences  of  my  wrong-doing.  I  shall 
confess  to  the  Mother  Superior  where  I  am  going.  This  is 
not  to  save  myself,  but  you  —  for  I  assure  you  I  care  not 
what  becomes  of  me. 

"  We  can  never  meet  again  —  that  much  is  certain." 

Here  some  illegible  words  followed,  and  then  her 
name. 

Five  weeks  afterward,  as  Berwick  was  sitting  in  the 
garden  of  the  Swan  Inn  at  Strasburg  one  evening,  he 
saw  Roger  Egremont  approaching  on  Merrylegs.  Roger 
dismounted,  and  Berwick  went  forward  to  greet  him. 
He  looked  worn  and  tired,  —  so  much  so  that  Berwick 
asked  him  if  he  had  been  ill.  No,  he  had  not  been  ill  • 
he  would  tell  all  as  soon  as  he  had  had  some  supper, 
—  he  had  ridden  hard  that  day. 

After  supper  he  proposed  to  Berwick  to  walk  into 
the  country.  Berwick  knew  then  that  the  story  of  his 
mysterious  absence  and  silence  would  be  told. 

He  told  it  all,  without  reservation ;  only,  he  tried  to 
give  out  the  idea  that  he  had  detained  Michelle  against 
her  will  at  la  Riviere.  But  he  was  truly  penitent  and 
had  obtained  her  forgiveness.  Through  the  Mother 
Superior  at  Pont-k-Mousson,  everything  would  appear 
quite  right  for  Michelle,  and  Roger  merely  told  Ber- 

421 


The  House  of  Egremont 

wick  because  he  felt  he  had  behaved  extremely  ill,  and 
had  miserably  betrayed  the  trust  reposed  in  him. 

Berwick  was  a  shrewd  man.  He  did  not  believe 
any  man  could  have  detained  Michelle  at  la  Riviere. 
She  had  gone  away  in  the  post-chaise  as  soon  as  she 
was  ready.  He  suspected  the  exact  state  of  the  case, 
and  while  he  blamed  them  justly,  he  pitied  the  two  poor 
unhappy  souls.  He  said  nothing,  but  after  a  while  held 
out  his  hand  in  a  friendly  grasp  to  Roger,  —  they  were 
standing  still  by  the  roadside  then.  Roger  had  never 
expected  Berwick  to  take  his  hand  again.  That  hand- 
clasp was  the  gratefuUest  one  he  had  ever  known  in  his 
life. 

On  returning  to  the  inn  Berwick  produced  two 
letters  which  he  had  been  holding  for  Roger.  One  was 
from  Dicky,  —  a  mere  line  saying  he  was  well,  and 
hoped  to  be  soon  ordered  to  England.  It  was  two 
months  old.  The  second  was  only  three  weeks  old,  and 
was  from  Bess  Lukens.  Something  in  the  letter  itself, 
—  hurried  and  giving  no  signs  of  that  elaborate  care 
which  half-educated  persons  like  poor  Bess  bestow  upon 
their  rare  letters  —  alarmed  Roger.  It  was  written  from 
Paris  the  first  of  July,  and  said  briefly,  — 

I  have  just  had  news  that  Mr.  Richard  is  taken  in 
England,  and  is  in  Newgate  prison  under  sentence  of 
death.  I  don't  know  what  his  superiors,  as  he  calls  them, 
were  thinking  about  to  let  the  poor  lad  go.  I  got  the  news 
at  St.  Germains  last  night,  through  Mr.  Fran9ois  Delau- 
nay.  He  came  with  me  to  Paris  at  daylight  and  we  are 
now  taking  coach  for  Calais ;  for  I  am  going  to  England 
to  try  and  save  the  lad.  I  have  a  plenty  of  money  with 
me,  and  I  know  Newgate  prison  better  than  the  man  that 
built  it ;  and  I  have  an  old  friend  there  besides,  —  Diggory 
Hutchinson,  as  you  may  remember.     I  will  write  you  as 

422 


Roger's  Last  Fight  with  the  Devil 

soon  as  I  get  to  London.  There  might  n't  be  any  trouble 
in  getting  Mr.  Richard's  sentence  commuted,  if  he  was  not 
a  Jesuit ;  but  they  hanged  the  othei-s,  Sir  John  Fenwick 
and  the  rest  of  them,  and  't  is  not  likely  they  will  spare  a 
Jesuit.  But  there  are  ways  of  cheating  the  gallows,  that  I 
know,  and  you  may  yet  see  Mr.  Richard's  merry  face  and 
hear  him  play  his  fiddle.  So  good-bye  and  no  more  at 
present.  From  your  faithful  friend, 

Bess  Lukens. 


423 


CHAPTER   XIX 

IF   A   MAN  GIVETH  HIS    LIFE   FOR   HIS   FRIENDS,   HE 
CAN  DO   NO  MORE 

IT  was  at  the  inn  of  Michot  that  Bess  Lnkens  had 
heard  the  dreadful  news  about  Dicky  Egremont. 
She  had  gone  to  St.  Germains  to  spend  the  Sunday 
with  her  friend,  Madame  Michot.  Saturday  evening 
was  now  the  one  gay  evening  in  the  week  at  the  inn, 
when  it  recovered  some  of  its  pristine  splendor.  The 
common  room  was  quite  full,  punch  was  brewing,  and 
there  was  an  occasional  burst  of  song. 

"But  it  is  not  what  it  was  five  years  ago,"  sighed 
Madame  Michot  to  Bess,  who  sat  by  her  on  the  little 
platform  by  the  large  door,  with  the  writing-table  and 
the  grille,  looking  into  the  great  room. 

Madame  Michot,  taking  advantage  of  Bess's  presence 
to  look  after  the  kitchen  administration,  left  her  to  pre- 
side at  the  bureau.  Bess,  who  was,  as  usual,  very  hand- 
somely dressed,  looked  quite  regal  in  Madame  Michot's 
great  chair,  on  her  improvised  throne. 

She  found  some  of  her  acquaintances  among  those 
who  came  to  pay  their  score,  —  more  paid  in  cash  than 
in  the  old  days,  —  and  each  of  the  gentlemen  passed 
Mademoiselle  Luccheni  a  compliment,  which  Bess  re- 
turned in  kind.  Many  inquired  how  the  merry  war 
progressed  between  the  Abb^  d'  Albret  and  herself ;  at 
which  Bess  showed  all  her  rosy  dimples  and  white  teeth, 
and  replied  that  she  understood  the  Abb^  was  ailing,  — 

424 


If  a  Man  Giveth  His  Life 

going  into  a  decline,  fretted  thereto  by  Mademoiselle 
Luccheni,  The  evening  was  far  spent,  when  the  door 
opened,  and  Fran9ois  Delaunay,  looking  as  neat  and 
as  pious  as  usual,  entered. 

A  chorus  of  welcome  greeted  him ;  gentlemen  inquir- 
ing how  the  Duchess  did ;  and  was  he  out  on  parole ; 
and  what  time  was  he  obliged  to  report ;  and  other  re- 
marks indicating  his  condition  of  servitude.  To  all 
this,  Francois  replied  goodnaturedly,  and  then  turned  to 
greet  Bess. 

"  Sit  you  down  there,"  said  Bess,  pointing  to  a  footstool 
which  Frangois  placed  on  the  step  of  the  platform,  bring- 
ing his  head  on  a  level  with  Bess's  waist,  "  and  I  'U  let 
you  see,  Mr.  Fran§ois,"  she  continued,  "  that  I  can  look 
the  duchess  as  well  as  that  old  Beaumanoir  woman,  — 
no  offence  meant.     How  is  she  ?  " 

FrauQois  shook  his  head  dolefully. 

"  Very  gay.  Plays  incessantly,  and  will  have  me  to 
play  and  drink.  She  complained  of  me  to-night  that  I 
had  never  been  really  drunk  since  I  had  lived  in  her 
house ;  and  when  I  would  have  spent  the  evening 
quietly,  with  my  books  and  my  writing-book,  she  fairly 
drove  me  out  of  the  house,  to  have  some  adventures 
and  come  back  and  tell  her.  So  I  came  to  the  inn  of 
Michot." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Bess,  shaking  her  head  solemnly, 
"  by  what  she  said  about  your  never  being  drunk,  that 
she  suspects  the  game  you  have  been  practising  on  her, 
playing  drunk." 

"  I  suspect  she  does,  too.  Oh,"  cried  Frangois,  in  a 
burst  of  confidence,  "  if  I  were  but  free  and  independent, 
if  I  had  but  a  thousand  francs  a  year,  I  would  lead  the 
life  I  desire,  —  books  and  science,  and,  perhaps,  take 
orders." 

425 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"  Poor  Francois !  "  replied  Bess,  laughing.  "  I  have 
known  men  affect  pious  to  gull  their  patrons ;  but  never 
saw  I  before  a  man  who  had  to  affect  to  be  dissolute." 

"  'T  is  all  due  to  your  King  Charles  the  Second. 
But  for  him,  I  could  have  lived  in  peace  with  my  aunt ; 
but  the  effort  to  make  myself  appear  like  that  dissipated 
King,  whom  I  detest  and  despise,  is  killing  to  me." 
And  then  FrauQois  went  into  the  common  room. 

Some  one  started  a  Jacobite  song,  "  Awa',  Whigs, 
awa' !  "  and  there  was  a  rousing  chorus,  at  which  Bess, 
on  her  dais,  stood  up,  and  her  rich  and  powerful  soprano 
could  be  heard  ringing  like  a  bird  above  the  masculine 
voices.  Presently  a  stranger  entered,  who  seemed  to 
have  news ;  and  in  a  few  moments  Frangois  Delaunay 
left  the  group  which  surrounded  the  new-comer,  and 
coming  out  of  the  room  to  Bess,  said,  with  a  pale 
face,  — 

"  There  is  very  desperate  news  about  Richard  Egre- 
mont. He  went  to  England  three  weeks  ago,  was  ap- 
prehended, and  now  lies  in  Newgate  gaol  under  sentence 
of  death.     Such  is  the  news  brought  from  London." 

Bess  remained  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  They  '11  hang  him,  sure,"  she  said.  "  They  hanged 
Sir  John  Fenwick  and  the  rest ;  and  Dicky,  —  Mr. 
Egremont,  I  mean,  —  being  a  Jesuit,  will  have  no  chance 
for  his  life." 

Then,  after  a  moment,  she  continued :  "  If  I  were 
there,  with  money,  I  might  help  him.  It  a'n't  so  hard 
to  get  out  of  Newgate  —  "  She  stopped  at  this,  and 
Frangois  said,  — 

"  If  I  had  the  money  I  would  give  it  you ;  but,  alas !  " 
He  turned  out  his  pockets,  showing  a  few  crowns. 

"  I  have  some  money  at  Paris,  but  there 's  no  know- 
ing how  much  might  be  needed;    we  might  have   to 

426 


If  a  Man  Giveth  His  Life 

charter  a  vessel  to  bring  him  back.  I  wonder,"  she 
continued,  an  idea  striking  her,  "  if  that  old  woman  —  " 

"  The  Duchess  ?  She  is  a  free  and  liberal  woman  — 
sometimes,"  replied  Fran§ois. 

"  You  come  with  me,"  was  Bess's  sudden  response, 
seizing  her  hood  and  cloak,  and  calling  for  Jacques  to 
take  her  place. 

In  two  minutes  she  was  walking  rapidly  through  the 
quiet  streets,  and  then  through  the  forest,  black  and 
still,  Fran9ois  finding  difficulty  in  keeping  up  with  her. 
It  was  little  more  than  ten  o'clock  at  night  when  they 
reached  the  chateau  de  Beaumanoir,  a  mile  from  the 
edge  of  the  forest ;  but  all  was  dark  in  the  building, 
except  a  single  window.  Francois  led  Bess  through  a 
small  door,  and  then  she  demanded  of  a  sleepy  porter 
to  be  shown  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  room. 

"  But  Madame  the  Duchess  is  in  bed.  I  dare  not," 
replied  the  man. 

"Very  well,"  replied  Bess,  coolly,  and  making  a  dash 
for  the  stairs  at  her  right ;  "  I  can  find  my  way  without 
any  of  you  stupid  lackeys." 

She  had  no  difficulty,  once  in  the  corridor,  in  marking 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir's  room  ;  and  when  she  knocked 
loudly  at  the  door,  a  maid  appeared. 

"I  want  to  see  your  mistress,  this  moment,"  cried 
Bess,  in  agitation. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  impossible ;  madame  is  in  her  bed, 
with  the  curtains  drawn,"  replied  the  woman,  civilly 
enough. 

Bess  wasted  no  words  on  her,  as  she  had  wasted  none 
on  the  lackey,  and  with  one  strong  arm  thrusting  the  maid 
aside,  she  entered  the  anteroom,  and  marched  through 
to  the  bedroom,  where  a  night-light  burned  by  a  great 
green   and  gold  bed.     The   maid,   recovering  herself, 

427 


The  House  of  Egremont 

dashed  after  her ;  but  Bess  waved  her  back,  and  seizing 
the  bed-curtain,  drew  it  back.  As  she  did  so,  Madame 
de  Beaumanoir,  who  was  in  the  bed,  uttered  a  piercing 
shriek,  and  disappeared  under  the  bedclothes.  This 
conduct,  so  astonishing  on  Madame  de  Beamanoir's 
part,  staggered  Bess  ;  but  she  held  her  ground  stoutly. 

The  maid  then  began  adding  her  screams  to  Madame 
de  Beaumanoir's,  — 

"  Go  away !  go  away !  Madame  wishes  you  to  leave 
the  room  at  once  !     For  God's  sake,  go !  " 

Bess,  more  and  more  amazed,  still  declined  to  budge. 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir,  under  the  bedclothes,  con- 
tinued to  emit  shrieks  ;  but  the  maid,  ceasing  her  noise, 
ran  to  a  chiffonier,  and  taking  from  it  a  wig  and  a  set 
of  Paris  teeth,  returned  to  the  bed,  motioning  frantically 
to  Bess,  upon  whom  light  began  to  break. 

"I  will  go  into  the  anteroom  for  five  minutes,"  she 
said,  loftily ;  "  but  I  shall  return  at  the  end  of  that  time, 
as  I  am  compelled  to  see  Madame  the  Duchess." 

With  this,  she  marched  out.  Five  minutes  later, 
when  she  came  back  into  the  bedroom,  Madame  de 
Beaumanoir  was  sitting  up  majestically  in  bed,  a  full 
set  of  very  white  teeth  in  her  mouth,  her  cheeks  red- 
dened, and  a  wig  on  her  head,  though  in  the  haste  of 
preparation,  the  maid  had  clapped  the  wig  on  before 
removing  the  night-cap.  But  Madame  de  Beaumanoir, 
serenely  unconscious,  and  with  her  stateliest  air,  said : 

"  Pray,  pardon  my  agitation ;  but  I  was  much  alarmed 
at  having  my  bed-curtains  pulled  open,  and  seeing  a 
stranger  at  my  bedside." 

Bess,  in  the  midst  of  her  distress,  could  not  but  smile, 
but  she  only  said,  — 

"I  did  not  know  I  was  so  alarming.  However,"  she 
added,  gravely,  "  your   Ladyship's   Grace   must  know 

428 


If  a  Man  Giveth  His  Life 

that  only  sometliing  of  the  most  pressing  nature  would 
induce  me  to  rouse  you  at  this  hour.  It  is  to  tell  you 
the  desperate  news  concerning  D —  I  mean  Mr.  Richard 
Egremont,  the  Jesuit  priest.  He  is  now  in  Newgate 
prison  under  sentence  of  death.  I  take  horses  for 
Paris  this  night  on  my  way  to  London  to  see  if  he  can 
be  saved.  I  know  that  hateful  prison  well,  and  if  I 
have  money  enough  I  may  be  able  to  get  him  out  of 
that  place  and  out  of  England.  I  have  some  money  in 
Paris,  —  a  thousand  livres,  —  but  I  know  not  if  that  will 
be  enough.  You  once  told  me  —  that  day  upon  the  ter- 
race long  ago  —  that  if  I  wanted  a  service  to  come  to 
you.  Now  I  come  to  you  to  redeem  that  promise.  I 
want  more  money  —  much  money  —  all  the  money  you 
can  lay  your  hands  on  to-night  —  to  help  me  save  Mr. 
Richard  Egremont  from  the  gallows.  If  I  live  I  will 
pay  it  back,  whether  I  can  save  his  life  or  no." 

Madame  de  Beaumanoir  looked  at  Bess,  as  she  de- 
liberately uttered  this. 

"  I  know  a  good  deal  about  you,  Lukens,"  she  said, 
condescendingly  ;  "  you  want  some  money  immediately. 
You  shall  have  all  that  I  can  command  at  this  moment. 
I  scarcely  know  young  Egremont,  but  I  know  his  cousin, 
Mr.  Roger  Egremont,  and  I  knew  all  that  family  in 
days  past." 

She  motioned  to  the  maid,  who  brought  her  a  dress- 
ing-case ;  from  it  she  took  some  gold  and  notes. 

"  Here,"  she  said,  "  are  about  twelve  hundred  livres. 
Take  them  and  try  to  save  the  poor  lad.  I  cannot  bear 
the  thought  of  a  good-looking  Englishman  being 
hanged.  There  are  too  few  of  them  an3rway.  Frangois 
shall  take  you  to  Paris  to-night," 

Bess  put  the  money  into  the  pocket  of  her  gown, 
and  then,  stooping  over,  surprised  Madame  de  Beauma- 

429 


The  House  of  Egremont 

noir  very  much  by  giving  her  a  rousing  smack  of  a  kiss 
on  either  cheek.  And  then,  running  out,  she  called 
loudly,  — 

"  Mr.  Fran9ois !  Mr.  Francois  !  you  are  to  take  me  to 
Paris  to-night ! " 

An  hour  after  midnight  the  sober  house  of  Papa 
Mazet  was  knocked  up  by  Bess,  with  Francois,  and 
when  the  sunrise  of  a  July  morning  was  gilding  the 
spires  of  Paris,  Bess,  with  Francois  still  for  an  escort, 
was  well  out  of  Paris  on  the  road  to  Calais. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  Bess  Lukens 
touched  her  native  soil  again  after  an  absence  of  more 
than  seven  years. 

She  felt  no  thrill  of  joy,  or  of  any  other  emotion,  when 
she  looked  about  her  on  the  shore  at  Dover.  She  had 
been  a  miserable  creature  in  England ;  all  her  early  as- 
sociations with  her  own  country  were  repugnant  to 
her.  The  passionate  attachment  which  Dicky  Egremont 
felt  for  his  own  land  was  a  mystery  to  Bess  Lukens. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Roger  may  well  love  Egremont ;  but 
Dicky,  without  an  acre  of  ground,  a  stick,  or  a  stone  in 
England  —  why  can't  the  boy  rest  quiet  in  France?" 
For  nothing  could  ever  make  Bess  believe  Dicky  to  be 
aught  but  a  boy  still. 

Bess's  knowledge  of  the  humble  class  to  which  she 
belonged  was  complete,  and  she  knew  perfectly  well 
how  to  achieve  success  with  innkeepers,  post-boys,  and 
the  like.  So  she  inaugurated  her  journey  to  London  by 
walking  up  boldly  to  the  first  decent  inn  she  saw,  and 
asking  for  the  landlord,  and  demanding,  first,  dinner, 
and  afterward  horses  for  London.  At  the  same  time 
she  offered  some  French  gold  in  exchange  for  English 
money. 

The  landlord  looked  at  her  keenly,  but  Bess,  hand- 

430 


If  a  Man  Giveth  His  Life 

somely  dressed  and  perfectly  calm  and  composed,  was 
entirely  at  her  ease. 

"  How  did  you  come  by  this,  mistress  ? "  asked  the 
innkeeper,  turning  over  the  gold. 

"  'T  is  none  of  your  business,  sir,"  tartly  replied  Bess. 
"  If  you  don't  want  to  change  it,  there  's  other  inns,  1 
reckon,  in  Dover ;  and  if  you  change  it,  don't  you  go  for 
to  playing  me  any  tricks  in  the  exchange.  I  know  to  a 
farthing  what  I  ought  to  have,  and  I  '11  have  it  if  there  is 
law  in  the  land." 

Boldness  is  the  best  diplomacy  in  the  world  some- 
times, and  Bess  Lukens  was  always  master  of  this  sort 
of  diplomacy.  The  innkeeper,  who  would  probably 
have  had  her  arrested  had  she  shown  the  smallest 
timidity,  was  himself  somewhat  awed  by  Bess's  lofty 
tone  and  commanding  manner,  and  proceeded  to  change 
the  money.  Bess  watched  him  narrowly,  pounced  upon 
a  couple  of  worn  sixpences,  threw  them  out,  and  then 
demanded  that  the  horses  should  be  made  ready  while 
she  ate. 

The  innkeeper  very  obsequiously  followed  her  com- 
mands, but  his  curiosity  tempted  him  to  say,  in  the 
presence  of  the  postilions,  just  as  Bess  was  starting, 
"I should  think,  ma'am,  you'd  be  afeerd  to  go  the  jour- 
ney to  London  alone." 

"Afraid  of  what?"  demanded  Bess,  her  foot  on  the 
step  of  the  chaise,  and  turning  back  with  her  bright 
eyes  full  of  scorn.  "  Afraid  of  what  ?  Of  these  two  post- 
boys ?  La  !  I  could  wallop  'em  both  together  ; ''  which 
seemed  true,  as  both  postilions  were  considerably 
smaller  than  she  was.  "And  afraid  of  highwaymen? 
Not  me.  I  'd  say,  "  Take  my  money :  it 's  not  much,  for 
most  of  what  I  have  is  in  the  bank  at  London:  but 
just  let  me  go  my  way,  —  which  they  would."      Bess's 

431 


The  House  of  Egreraont 

money,  however,  was  mostly  in  notes,  and  those  were 
very  artfully  concealed  in  her  stockings. 

And  so  saying,  she  stepped  into  the  chaise,  and  was 
soon  bowling  along  rapidly  to  London. 

Her  thoughts  on  the  way  were  anxious,  but  not  wholly 
gloomy.  She  rehed  on  her  money  and  on  her  knowl- 
edge of  the  prison  to  get  Dicky  out.  And  she  knew 
him  to  be  so  intelligent  and  so  familiar  with  England  that 
once  out  of  prison  he  could  escape  detection  almost  any- 
where, and  as  soon  as  the  hubbub  of  his  disappearance 
had  quieted  down,  it  would  be  easy  enough  to  smuggle 
him  across  the  water.  The  whole  of  the  day  was  con- 
sumed in  the  journey,  and  it  was  past  nightfall  on  a 
soft  July  night  when  her  chaise  rolled  under  the  dark 
and  forbidding  archway  of  Newgate  she  so  well  remem- 
bered. It  seemed  darker  and  blacker  to  her  than  ever, 
and  the  grimy  lantern  that  swung  overhead  was  like  a 
sinister  eye  in  an  evil  face. 

There  was  a  main  door,  which  was  bolted  and  barred, 
but  a  little  way  off  was  a  small  door,  opening,  as  it  were, 
into  a  cellar.  Bess  went  straight  to  this  little  door,  and 
beat  a  thundering  rat-tat-tat  upon  it.  In  a  moment  it 
was  opened,  showing  her  a  dismal  little  room,  in  which 
sat  Diggory  Hutchinson,  looking  not  a  day  older  than 
he  was  when  he  so  awkwardly  sued  for  Bess's  favor, 
seven  years  before. 

"You  don't  know  me,  Diggory,"  said  Bess  with  a 
bright  smile,  walking  forward  into  the  light  from  a 
couple  of  tallow  candles. 

Truly,  Diggory  knew  her,  and  yet  did  not  know  her. 
Was  this  modish  creature,  with  her  silk  mantle,  her 
embroidered  hood,  her  fan  at  her  side,  and  a  jewel  in  her 
stomacher,  old  Tim  Lukens's  niece  ?  Diggory  tried  to 
reconstruct  her  as  he  remembered  her,  —  in  her  coarse 

432 


If  a  Man  Giveth  His  Life 

stuff  gown,  and  clumsy  shoes,  with  her  shapely  arms 
showing  below  her  short  sleeves.  But  it  was  vain. 
There  were  two  Bess  Lukenses,  and  to  this  one  he  was 
stranger,  and  was  a  little  afraid  of  her. 

"  Come,  man,"  cried  Bess,  "  I  am  here  on  important 
business,  and  I  want  you  to  keep  it  quiet.  Are  there 
any  Jesuit  gentlemen  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Diggory,  still  disconcerted.  "  Mr. 
Richard  Egremont,  —  a  cousin  to  him  as  was  Mr,  Roger 
Egremont,  that  you  remembers." 

"  That 's  all  I  want  to  know,"  replied  Bess,  cheerfully, 
surprised  that  she  should  have  found  her  man  so  easily, 
and  found  him  alive.  "  Now,  like  a  good  man,  don't  go 
rousing  the  place.  I  know  you  need  not.  I  know  how 
Newgate  is  conducted,  bad  luck  to  it,  and  you  won't  be 
for  getting  me  in  any  trouble,  now,  will  you  ?  That 's 
a  good  Diggory." 

She  had  stepped  up  close  to  Diggory,  and  had  put  one 
strong,  well-shaped  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  looked  into 
his  eyes  with  a  frank,  compelling  gaze.  Many  men  and 
women  stronger  and  better  than  poor  Diggory  Hutchin- 
son had  succumbed  to  the  natural  charm  of  that  glance 
and  that  touch,  so  he  only  said,  — 

"  I  '11  not  be  getting  you  in  any  trouble  if  you  don't 
get  into  it  yourself." 

"  Of  course,  Diggory,"  continued  Bess,  in  a  wheedling 
voice.  "  You  '11  not  turn  me  in  the  street  this  time  of 
night.  Sure,  you  '11  let  me  sleep  in  a  cell,  without  tell- 
ing anybody,  and  if  you  will  agree  to  let  me  stay  I  '11 
tell  you  what  I  came  for." 

"  In  course,"  replied  Diggory,  still  very  much  puzzled. 
Not  having  seen  Bess  during  the  period  of  her  meta- 
morphosis, he  was  naturally  the  more  struck  with  the 
change.  She  was  so  exquisitely  handsome,  and  so  well 
28  433 


The  House  of  Egremont 

dressed,  and  in  addition  to  her  old  good-naturedly 
hectoring  way,  she  had  a  subtle  note  of  command  in 
her  voice,  and  a  pleasant  look  of  authority  in  her  eye, 
Diggory  was  at  a  loss  to  know  what  had  turned  Bess 
Lukens  into  this  dazzling  creature. 

"  You  must  know,  my  good  Diggory,"  said  Bess,  in  a 
condescending  tone,  "  that  I  have  been  in  France  these 
last  seven  years,  and  I  have  spoke  so  much  French  that 
if  I  fall  into  it  now  and  then,  you  '11  not  be  surprised. 
I  am  one  of  the  singers  at  the  King's  Opera  in  Paris." 

"I  remembers,"  said  Diggory,  "thou  wert  always 
a-singing  and  a-trilling.  You  always  made  a  mighty 
noise." 

Bess  smiled  with  the  air  of  a  gracious  princess  on 
Diggory.  "  Singing  is  well  paid,  my  good  lad,  if  one 
can  sing  well  enough." 

"  Are  you  married,  Bess  ? "  asked  Diggory,  after  a 
pause. 

"  No,  and  I  have  no  mind  to  be.  There  is  enough 
trouble  in  this  life  to  give  everybody  a  plenty,  and  I 
don't  want  to  increase  my  share  of  it  by  marrying.  But 
if  I  could  ever  marry  anybody,  it  would  be  an  English- 
man. I  love  the  French  en  masse,  that  means  the  whole 
of  'em,  but  I  am  not  for  marrying  any  one  of  em." 

Diggory  took  this  as  a  personal  compliment,  and 
grinned,  and  then  Bess,  abruptly  turning  the  conversa- 
tion, said,  "  And  when  is  Mr.  Dicky  Egremont  to  be 
tried?" 

"  He  don't  need  to  be  tried  no  more,"  calmly  replied 
Diggory.  "  He  were  tried  and  convicted  once,  and 
that 's  enough.  He  were  resentenced  day  before  yester- 
day, and  he  is  to  be  hanged  to-morrow  morning,  by  six 
of  the  clock." 

At  these  dreadful  words,  uttered   in    the  cool  and 

434 


If  a  Man  Giveth  His  Life 

matter-of-fact  manner  of  a  prison  keeper,  Bess  started 
from  her  chair,  clasped  her  hands,  and  stood  mute 
and  stunned  with  horror.  Diggory,  hardened  to  all  the 
frightful  scenes  of  a  gaoler's  life,  looked  quietly  at  her 
face,  suddenly  grown  pallid,  at  her  dilating  eyes,  at  her 
tall  and  graceful  figure,  first  rigid  with  the  shock  of 
what  she  had  heard,  and  then  trembling  violently. 

She  could  not  speak,  but  motioned  him  to  go  on. 
Diggory,  to  whom  Dicky  Egremont  was  no  more  and  no 
less  than  one  of  many  Jesuit  gentlemen  who  had  walked 
calmly  into  the  prison  anfi  calmly  out  again  to  the  gal- 
lows, could  think  of  nothing  else  to  say  but  to  repeat : 

"  He  was  resentenced  'o  Monday,  that  was  day  before 
yesterday ;  and  he  is  to  be  hanged  o'  Thursday,  that 's 
to-morrow."  Then,  seeing  in  Bess's  wild  white  face 
a  look  of  agonized  inquiry,  he  continued,  with  the 
best  possible  intentions, — 

"  The  Jesuit  gentlemen,  you  know,  is  always  quar- 
tered afore  they  're  dead.  Ketch,  the  hangman,  wanted 
me  to  turn  his  'prentice,  and  was  a-going  to  show  me 
on  a  calf,  but  I  hadn't  no  stomach  for  it." 

The  dingy  room  swam  before  Bess,  and  the  two 
miserable  candles  danced  up  and  down.  A  vision 
passed  before  her  of  Dicky,  lying  on  the  ground,  — 
she  knew  all  about  it,  although  she  had  never  seen 
an  execution.  Diggory,  after  a  pause,  spoke  again. 
"  Them  Jesuits  is  hard  to  kill.  One  of  'em  when  I  was 
a  boy  held  out  for  half  an  hour  after  he  was  cut  open. 
He  set  up  on  the  ground  and  made  that  papist  sign  like 
this  here."  Diggory  crossed  himself.  "  He  were  a 
handsome  old  man  too,  and  one  of  the  gentry.  A 
duke  come  to  see  him  afore  he  was  hanged.  'Tis  no 
telling  how  long  they  '11  live  after  they  are  cut  down." 
Suddenly   Bess's   strong   self-control   gave    way.     She 

435 


The  House  of  Egremont 

uttered  a  loud  and  piercing  scream ;  her  voice,  always 
clear,  melodious,  and  penetrating,  echoed  through  the 
stone  archways  and  corridors  of  the  vast  building,  like 
the  death  cry  of  music  itself.  Diggory,  at  this,  flew 
at  her,  stopping  her  mouth  with  his  palm,  and  Bess 
sunk  on  a  chair. 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  "  he  cried.  "  They  '11  catch  you  and 
I  '11  lose  my  place,  I  will." 

There  was  a  deep  silence  afterward.  Bess's  mind  was 
in  a  tumult,  while  Diggory  listened  for  coming  footsteps. 

"  Nobody 's  coming,"  he  said,  after  five  minutes  had 
passed.  "  They  think  it 's  some  o'  the  prisoners.  Often- 
times they  screams  like  that,  —  we  don't  take  no  notice 
unless  they  has  a  regular  spell  of  it." 

"  Diggory,"  gasped  Bess  after  a  while,  "  you  ever  had 
a  good  heart.  Take  me  to  Mr.  Egremont's  cell.  I 
know  you  have  a  pass-key.  Diggory,  I  will  give  you 
this  jewel,  I  swear  I  will,  if  you  will  but  let  me  see 
Mr.  Egremont." 

She  unfastened  with  trembling  fingers  the  brooch 
from  her  breast,  and  pressed  it  in  his  hand. 

"  I  don't  want  nothing,"  said  Diggory,  bashfully.  "  I 
know,  and  you  know,  Bess,  that  it 's  worth  my  place, 
and  maybe  something  worse,  to  let  you  into  Mr.  Egre- 
mont's cell  to-night,  —  but  I  '11  do  it.  Howsomedever, 
I  must  go  and  see  the  guard  first." 

Bess  handed  him  all  the  gold  and  paper  money  she 
could  find  in  her  purse.  "  Use  it  all,  —  and  I  have 
more,  —  only  let  me  see  Mr.  Egremont  this  night." 

Diggory  went  out,  closing  and  locking  the  door  after 
him.  Bess  sat  trembling  with  horror.  She  had  been 
frightened  about  Dicky,  —  she  feared  that  he  would  get 
himself  in  trouble,  as  Roger  had  done,  —  but  that  it 
would   come   to  this,  she  had  not  fully  expected.    It 

486 


If  a  Man  Giveth  His  Life 

seemed  hours  before  Diggory  returned ;  in  truth  it  was 
but  little  more  than  twenty  minutes. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  don't  make  not 
the  least  bit  of  noise." 

Bess  rose,  and  Diggory,  blowing  out  the  candles,  led 
the  way  to  the  corridor,  and  then  downward  to  a  cellar. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  physical  weakness  almost 
overcame  Bess  Lukens.  In  their  stealthy  progress 
along  dark  and  unused  passages  and  cellars,  through 
dismal  corridors  and  noisome  courts,  she  often  had  to 
stop  and  lean,  half  fainting,  on  Diggory.  At  last  they 
reached  a  narrow  stair,  at  the  top  of  which  was  a  cell, 
with  a  lantern  in  it,  and  a  stone  bench.  Here  Diggory 
left  Bess,  and  after  a  moment  another  door  silently 
opened,  and  in  walked  Dicky  Egremont. 

He  was  handcuffed,  but  otherwise  had  no  fetters  or 
chains,  —  and  was  fully  dressed  in  a  shabby  cassock, 
and  had  his  beretta  on  his  head,  from  which  his  short, 
curling  light  hair  escaped.  Never  had  Bess  seen  his 
pleasant,  boyish  face  more  calm  and  smiling. 

"  How  good  this  is  of  you,  dear  Bess,"  he  said,  and 
took  her  hand. 

But  Bess,  albeit  mindful  of  Diggory's  warning  to 
make  no  noise,  was  sobbing  convulsively,  and  trying  to 
stifle  her  sobs  in  her  mantle.  She  could  not  speak,  but 
Dicky  could,  in  his  usual  soft  and  artless  voice. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  you  have  done  me  the  greatest 
service  in  the  world  by  coming  to  me,  and  I  think  you 
must  have  run  an  extra  hazard,  —  and  now  you  sob  so 
you  can  neither  speak  nor  hear  me.  'T  is  no  way  to  do." 
But  Bess  could  only  sob  and  sob  for  a  while  longer, 
Dicky  waiting  patiently  meanwhile.  Presently,  under 
the  spell  of  his  composure,  she  grew  calm. 

"  True,"  she  whispered,  "  I  have  my  whole  life  to  cry 
437 


The  House  of  Egremonr 

in,  —  and  only  a  little  while  to  be  with  thee.  But,  oh, 
Dicky,  cannot  money  get  thee  out  of  this?  I  have 
a  plenty,  —  my  own  and  Madame  de  Beaumanoir's,  — 
and  I  know  this  place  well,  —  and  Diggory  Hutchin- 
son, the  turnkey,  is  my  friend." 

"No  Bess.  'Tis  useless.  Perhaps  a  week  ago  — 
but  not  now.  However,  't  is  no  matter.  Better  men 
than  I  have  died  as  I  shall  die  to-morrow  morning,  I 
am  no  hero,  —  but  I  hope  I  can  die  as  becomes  a  priest 
and  a  gentleman." 

"  Tell  me  all,"  said  Bess,  still  trembling  convulsively, 
"  that  I  may  take  it  back  to  France,  —  to  those  that 
love  you,  —  to  poor  Roger." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Dicky,  his  bright  eyes  moistening  a 
little.  "  I  should  like  Roger,  whom  I  love  best  of  any 
person  in  the  world,  to  know  how  I  came  to  this  pass. 
Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  I  got  the  mission  to 
England,  although  every  one  of  my  countrymen  in  the 
Society  of  Jesus  was  on  file  as  eager  to  go.  I  came  as 
a  strolling  fiddler,  and  was  safe  enough  for  a  time.  I 
even  lay  in  the  village  of  Egremont  several  days  and 
nights.  You  have  no  notion,  Bess !  "  cried  Dicky,  his 
tone  growing  animated,  "  how  I  liked  my  fiddler's  life. 
You  see,  it  was  mostly  in  the  open  air,  —  and  it  was  so 
sweet  to  be  in  English  fields  and  woods  again,  and  to 
be  at  Egremont !  " 

There  was  a  kind  of  rapture  in  his  voice. 

"  How  you  and  Roger  do  love  Egremont !  "  sighed 
Bess,  —  she  had  said  it  many  times  before. 

"  Yes,  we  are  simple  about  it,  I  think.  But,  Bess,  that 
last  week  of  freedom  was  the  very  happiest  of  my  life. 
Was  it  not  good  of  God  to  give  me  so  much  happiness 
—  and  the  very  sort  I  would  have  asked  —  at  the  very 
last?" 

438 


If  a  Man  Giveth  His  Life 

"No!  "  cried  Bess,  in  whom  nature  was  ever  stronger 
than  grace.  "  It  is  not  good  of  God  to  let  you  be  mur- 
dered, —  to  —  " 

Bess  stopped;  something  in  Dicky's  eye  compelled 
her. 

"  And  then,"  said  Dicky,  resuming  where  he  had  left 
off,  "it  was  so  good  to  play  my  fiddle  as  much  as  I 
liked.  You  see,  Bess,  at  the  seminary  there  were  more 
serious  things  to  do ;  and  I  never  could  manage  to  have 
the  company  of  my  dear  fiddle  for  more  than  half  an 
hour  in  the  day.  The  Superior  made  me  play  the  great 
organ  in  church,  —  but  I  never  loved  it  like  my  fiddle. 
And  I  played  English  tunes  all  the  time,  except  once, 
at  the  very  last ;  and  I  was  confused,  and  played  '  Les 
Folies  en  Espagne,'  and  that  was  the  beginning  of  my 
being  discovered."  And  then,  actually  laughing,  Dicky 
said,  "  Tell  that  to  Madame  de  Beaumanoir." 

Bess,  with  tears  dropping  down  her  pale  face,  mo- 
tioned him  to  go  on. 

"  As  I  tell  you,  I  was  a  whole  week  in  and  about 
Egremont,  baptizing  and  administering  the  sacraments, 
and  saying  mass  between  midnight  and  dawn.  I  grew 
a  beard,  and  no  one  knew  me.  I  did  not,  however,  spend 
every  night  with  the  Catholic  villagers,  for  fear  it  might 
arouse  suspicion.  Sometimes  I  lay  at  taverns,  paying  for 
my  supper  by  my  fiddling :  and  when  I  stayed  with  the 
farmer  lads,  I  was  up  with  the  dawn  and  in  the  fields, 
working  for  my  dinner ;  and  at  the  noontime  I  wculd 
play  while  the  rustics  danced,  —  it  did  me  good  to  see 
their  simple  joyousness,  and  oftentimes  I  felt  like  jump- 
ing up  and  shaking  a  leg,  and  fiddling  too.  And  in 
truth,  Bess,"  here  Dicky  blushed,  "  I  actually  did  it  once 
or  twice,  from  pure  joy  at  finding  myself  at  Egremont 
once  more,  with  the  honest  people  there,  and  the  sun 

4:39 


The  House  of  Egremont 

shining  so  merrily.  I  pitied  poor  Roger  when  I  should 
have  to  tell  him  how  sweet  the  whole  place  looked. 
The  oak  avenue  is  gone,  but  I  never  saw  such  sward 
anywhere  as  at  Egremont,  nor  such  delicious  air.  And 
such  excellent  eggs  and  milk ;  better,  I  am  sure,  than 
can  commonly  be  found." 

A  ghost  of  a  smile  appeared  upon  poor  Bess's  face, 
pale  and  drenched  with  tears. 

"  All  went  well  for  a  whole  week,  and  on  the  very  next 
day  Hodge,  the  shoemaker  in  the  village,  was  to  take  a 
load  of  turnips  to  Exeter,  and  I  was  to  meet  him  on  the 
road,  and  he  was  to  give  me  a  lift.  But  then  I  got  a 
message  from  some  poor  people  in  the  next  parish,  and 
I  had  to  go  to  them.  I  went  in  the  day,  and  in  the 
night  the  people  assembled  at  the  house  of  a  Catholic 
farmer,  and  I  baptized  several  children,  and  heard  con- 
fessions and  said  mass  at  midnight.  All  was  over,  and 
the  people  were  departing  quietly  before  daybreak,  when 
some  of  the  King's  people  passing  by  suspected  something, 
and  entered  the  house.  I  barely  had  time  to  flee,  carry- 
ing my  fiddle,  as  that  was  necessary  to  my  disguise ;  but 
they  captured  my  cassock  and  some  other  things.  It 
was  a  dark  night,  fortunately,  and  as  I  escaped  through 
a  back  lane,  although  the  whole  pack  were  after  me,  I 
managed  to  give  them  the  slip.  I  thought  the  safest 
thing  to  do  was  to  return  to  Egremont,  that  being  likely 
the  last  place  they  would  look  for  me,  —  Sir  Hugo  being 
very  active  in  hunting  down  Catholics." 

"  Was  that  villain  there  ?  "  cried  Bess.  "  May  God 
punish  him !  " 

"  You  shall  hear.  I  walked  and  ran  the  rest  of  the 
night,  and  just  as  the  sun  was  rising  I  found  myself  in 
the  Egremont  woods.  Oh,  how  sweet  they  were  !  There 
was  so  much  dew  on  the  grass  that  it  looked  like  rime, 

440 


If  a  Man  Giveth  His  Life 

and  so  many  primroses ;  but  I  will  not  say  another  word 
about  Egremont.  Although  my  beard  disguised  me 
well,  I  thought  it  best  not  to  stop  in  our  village,  but 
went  on  further,  several  miles,  to  another  one.  I  got 
my  breakfast  at  the  inn,  and  then  asked  for  work  in 
the  fields,  which  was  given  me.  At  noon,  when  we  had 
dinner,  —  the  poor  men  and  women  dividing  theirs  with 
me,  —  I  tuned  up  my  fiddle  to  pla}--  to  them,  when  I 
saw,  riding  along  the  highroad,  not  a  stone's  throw  from 
me,  Hugo  Stein.  I  thought  he  was  in  Germany,  —  I  had 
heard  so,  —  but  it  seems  he  returned  unexpectedly 
only  the  day  before.  I  was  so  disconcerted  at  the  sud- 
den sight  of  him  that  instead  of  playing  '  Green  Sleeves,' 
as  I  was  about  to,  I  found  myself  playing  '  Les  Folies 
en  Espagne,'  which  is  much  played  on  the  continent, 
but  not  known  here.  Sir  Hugo  stopped  his  horse,  looked 
at  me  very  hard,  then  leaping  his  horse  over  the  hedge 
he  rode  at  me,  saying,  — 

" '  You  are  a  popish  priest  in  disguise.  I  know  you, 
Richard  Egremont ! ' 

"  I  laughed,  and  went  on  with  my  fiddling,  although 
at  that  very  moment  I  knew  that  I  was  to  die  on  the 
gibbet.     He  then  seized  me  by  the  collar,  saying,  — 

" '  Come  with  me.  I  shall  hand  you  over  to  the 
magistrates.' 

"  I  knew  all  was  over  then,  and  putting  my  fiddle  under 
my  arm,  I  walked  along  by  his  side  as  he  again  took  the 
road  toward  Egremont.  And  to  show  you,  Bess,  how 
hard  it  is  to  forgive  one's  enemies,  and  the  enemies  of 
those  one  loves,  I  could  not  but  think,  '  Oh,  had  I  but  a 
good  horse,  and  sword  or  pistol  in  my  hand,  would  I  not 
make  you  payment  for  the  wrongs  you  have  heaped  on 
us,  miserable  bastard  that  you  are ! '  And  in  truth, 
Bess,  although  I  hope  I  shall  have  grace  given  me  to- 

441 


The  House  of  Egremont 

morrow  morning  to  forgive  Sir  Hugo,  I  have  it  not 
yet." 

"  I  should  think  not ! "  replied  Bess,  with  much  sim- 
plicity. 

"  I  followed  him  to  Egremont,  for  Sir  Hugo  is  very  ac- 
tive in  enforcing  the  laws  against  poachers  and  papists, 

—  he  classes  them  together,  —  and  often  detains  sus- 
pected persons  at  Egremont  until  they  can  be  put  in 
Whitford  gaol.  He  took  me  into  the  house,  —  oh,  Bess, 
I  thought  I  could  be  calm  and  cool  under  all  things,  but 
when  I  saw  the  rooms  where  I  had  played  when  a  boy, 
and  thought  of  Roger,  I  could  scarcely  forbear  weeping. 

"  Sir  Hugo  took  me  into  the  little  book-room,  off  the 
gallery  library,  the  very  place  I  wished  to  go,  as  I  knew 
of  the  'priests'  hole;'  but  he  said  to  me,  smiling,  'I 
know  what  you  are  looking  for.  It  is  closed  up.  The 
present  owner  of  Egremont  obeys  the  laws  of  the  realm, 
and  harbors  no  man  against  the  law.'  I  spoke  no  word, 
except,  looking  hard  at  the  place  in  the  wall  where  it 
had  been,  I  said,  without  reflection,  'God's  will  be 
done.'  He  kept  me  there  until  the  next  day, — the  last 
night  I  was  ever  to  spend  under  the  roof  of  Egremont, 

—  and  the  next  day,  my  cassock  and  other  things  being 
found,  the  country  was  in  an  uproar,  the  Whigs  demand- 
ing my  blood,  and  others  who  would  have  been  more 
merciful  were  afraid  to  speak,  for  fear  of  being  thought 
implicated  in  last  year's  hanging  business.  It  was  con- 
sidered best,  however,  to  remove  me  to  London  nine  days 
ago,  as  some  of  the  poor  people  at  Egremont  were  mut- 
tering very  much,  and  threatening  to  attack  the  Whitford 
gaol.  So  I  was  brought  here  and  resentenced  on  Mon- 
day, before  the  Court  of  the  King's  Bench,  to  be  hanged, 
cut  down  while  I  was  yet  alive,  and  quartered.  I  was, 
however,  spared  that  part  of  the  sentence  of  Sir  John 

U2 


If  a  Man  Giveth  His  Life 

Friend,  and  Sir  William  Perkins,  whose  heads  and  quar- 
ters were  ordered  nailed  to  Temple  Bar." 

A  deathlike  paleness  overspread  Bess's  usually  ruddy- 
face.  She  was  physically  so  strong,  and  in  her  buffet 
with  the  world  she  had  acquired  so  much  self-posses- 
sion that  her  own  agitation  actually  frightened  her. 
She  sat  white  and  silent,  and  trembling  in  every  limb. 
Not  so  Dicky,  who  was  as  calm  as  if  the  morning's  sun 
were  not  the  last  he  was  to  see.  "Now,  Bess  Lukens," 
he  said  in  a  cheerful  voice,  meant  to  compose  her, 
"  listen  to  what  I  say,  for  I  charge  you  with  my  fare- 
wells. I  have  nothing  to  give  any  one  but  my  blessing. 
First,  make  my  duty  to  my  King,  the  Queen,  and  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  tell  them  I  die  their  loyal  and 
dutiful  subject,  as  becomes  an  Egremont.  Tell  my 
superiors  that  I  trust  in  God  for  grace  to  die  in  a  man- 
ner befitting  the  Society  of  Jesus,  and  I  thank  them  for 
having  sent  me  here.  As  for  Roger,  say  to  him  that 
I  ever  loved  him  best  of  anybody  in  the  world,  and 
that  when  I  remember  my  boyhood,  friendless  but  for 
him,  and  recall  that  I  never  learned  from  him  or  saw  in 
him  anything  but  the  nicest  honor,  I  cannot  express 
the  gratitude  that  fills  my  heart.  It  did  my  heart  good 
to  see  how  our  poor  people  at  Egremont  still  had  him  in 
loving  memory,  and  longed  for  him  to  come  back.  And 
for  you,  Bess,  the  best  and  truest  of  friends  —  " 

For  the  first  time  Dicky's  musical  voice  broke.  Here 
was  the  actual  farewell  of  the  dying  to  the  living.  "  You 
who  have  come  to  me  when  I  expected  to  see  no  familiar 
face.  Well,  Bess,  remember  what  I  often  said  to  you 
when  you  sang  those  sweet  songs  and  anthems  to  my 
violin,  —  pray  that  we  again  sing  them  together  in 
Paradise." 

Bess  rose.      She  had  told  him  little  or  nothing  of 

443 


The  House  of  Egremont 

what  she  had  meant  to  say  to  him.  She  had  not  even 
told  him  about  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  and  the  money, 
but  she  felt  herself  unequal  to  more.  Her  strong  body 
and  her  strong  soul  were  alike  giving  way.  As  she 
went  toward  the  door,  like  a  sleep-walker,  she  heard 
Dicky's  clear,  sweet  voice  calling  after  her,  — 

"Good-bye,  dear  friend;  God  bless  thee  forever  and 
ever ! " 

His  manacled  hands  were  uplifted  in  blessing,  his 
round,  boyish  face  had  a  new  and  glorified  expression, 
his  eyes  were  glowing  with  faith  and  courage,  —  Dicky 
Egremont  had  grown  to  the  full  stature  of  a  man,  nay, 
of  a  hero. 

By  sunrise  next  morning  the  distance  from  Newgate 
prison  to  Tyburn  was  crowded  with  people,  mostly  on 
foot,  but  many  on  horseback,  others  in  carts  and  chaises, 
and  some  even  in  coaches.  The  executions  usually  took 
place  in  the  prison,  but  the  execution  of  a  young  Jesuit 
of  good  family  was  too  interesting  an  occasion  for  the 
citizens  of  London  to  be  deprived  of  the  full  sight,  — 
public  executions  being  public  holidays  in  London  town. 
The  drawing  and  quartering  were  likely  to  be  highly  in- 
teresting, and  these  Jesuit  gentlemen  had  a  reputation 
ever  since  the  time  of  Queen  Elizabeth  of  dying  with 
much  propriety. 

It  was  a  hazy  July  morning,  the  blue  mist  lying  low 
along  the  river  front,  and  a  pallid  sun  shining  dimly 
out  of  a  gray  sky.  The  green  spaces  in  Hyde  Park  were 
full  of  a  tumultuous  crowd,  laughing,  talking,  eating,  and 
all  tending  toward  Tyburn.  Some  wished  to  secure  the 
best  places  so  as  to  see  the  tortures  to  be  inflicted  on 
the  young  gentleman;  others  were  willing  to  forego 
that  in  order  to  watch  the  bearing  of  the  condemned  on 
his  tedious  way  in  the  cart  from  Newgate  to  Tyburn. 

444 


If  a  Man  Giveth  His  Life 

Among  those  earliest  on  the  ground  at  Tyburn  was 
Bess  Lukens.  She  was  attired  altogether  in  black,  and 
her  tall  and  handsome  figure  and  her  striking  beauty- 
were  intensified  by  her  sombre  dress.  Her  clear  com- 
plexion was  pale ;  and  her  face,  although  full  of  keen 
sorrow,  was  calm.  All  that  was  most  earthly  in  her 
beauty  was  refined  away,  and  her  bearing  was  perfectly 
quiet,  dignified,  and  lofty.  By  her  side  stood  Diggory 
Hutchinson,  in  his  holiday  clothes.  He  was  by  no  means 
so  composed  as  Bess  Lukens,  but  looked  about  him 
anxiously,  and  seemed  nervous,  though  not  irresolute. 
The  multitude  about  the  scaffold  speedily  recognized 
the  fact  that  the  tall,  pale,  handsome  young  woman,  in 
her  black  gown  and  hood,  was  one  near  to  the  con- 
demned. The  crowd  looked  at  her  curiously  and  not 
unsympathetically ;  nor  did  they  press  upon  her,  so  that 
she  stood  in  a  little  ring  of  people,  as  it  were,  with  Dig- 
gory close  behind  her.  She  bore  the  scrutiny  of  many 
eyes  without  flinching,  and,  indeed,  was  unconscious  of  it. 
Whispers  began  to  be  circulated  about  her  as  the  crowds 
were  increased  by  thousands,  who  began  to  pour,  like  a 
mighty  river,  from  all  quarters  of  the  town  into  the 
Tyburn  district.  Some  said,  "  She  is  his  sister ;  "  others, 
"  She  was  in  love  with  him ;  "  and  others  again,  "  She 
tried  to  rescue  him ;  "  but  Bess  remained  calm  and  un- 
noticing.  At  last  one  man,  more  callous  and  curious 
than  the  most,  came  up  to  her  and  said :  — 

"  You  seem  to  be  mightily  consarned,  miss.  Maybe 
you  knowed  the  condemned." 

"  I  know  him  well,"  replied  Bess,  in  her  clear,  pene- 
trating voice. 

"  Is  it  true,"  asked  the  man,  emboldened  by  her  re- 
ply, "  that  he  is  of  a  high  family  ?  " 

"  As  true  as  the  Gospels,"  replied  Bess.     "  It  takes 

445 


The  House  of  Egremont 

men  born  and  bred  like  Mr.  Richard  Egremont  to  come 
back  here  to  England,  when  he  thinks  it  is  his  duty, 
although  the  gallows  beckons  to  him.  Common  people 
like  you  and  me  a'n't  equal  to  it." 

At  this  a  laugh  went  around,  much  to  poor  Bess's 
discomfiture,  who  looked  about  with  sad  and  anxious 
eyes,  wondering  what  she  had  said  to  provoke  a  laugh. 

The  man,  a  respectable-looking  tradesman,  nettled  by 
her  words,  replied  tartly :  — 

"  Look  a-here,  mistress.  If  you  are  so  monstrous  fond 
of  this  here  traitor  and  Jesuit  as  is  about  to  get  his  de- 
serts, maybe  you  are  in  the  same  boat  with  him ;  maybe 
you  'd  be  better  off  in  prison  than  free  !  " 

"  If  you  think  I  can  be  frightened  you  don't  know 
me,"  replied  Bess,  still  composed.  "  I  am  not  afraid  to 
say  that  I  am  a  friend  to  Mr.  Richard  Egremont;  as 
true  a  gentleman  and  as  loyal  an  Englishman  as  ever 
stepped ;  only,  they  won't  let  him  practise  his  religion 
here.  And  there 's  a  plenty  of  people  here  as  feels  sorry 
for  him,  and  knows  he  a'n't  deserving  of  his  fate.  But 
you  are  all  cowards,  and  afraid  you  11  be  taken  up  if 
you  speak  your  minds,  and  so  you  keep  as  still  as  mice. 
But  I  am  not  afraid." 

At  that  Diggory  said  to  Bess,  in  a  low  voice,  — 

"  For  God's  sake,  Bess,  hold  thy  tongue,  or  we  may 
both  find  ourselves  in  gaol !  " 

"  Why  ? "  asked  Bess,  quietly.  "  I  'm  a  freeborn 
Briton.  I  can  speak  my  mind,  can't  I,  if  I  say  no 
evil  of  the  powers?  And  I  tell  you,  Diggory  Hutch- 
inson, that  nothing  on  earth  can  make  me  say  any- 
thing but  the  truth  when  I  am  asked  about  Mr.  Richard 
Egremont ! " 

Then  there  was  a  faint  and  distant  roar,  —  the  sound 
of  many  voices.    The  victim  was  approaching ;  and  that 

446 


If  a  Man  Giveth  His  Life 

menacing  shout,  ever  growing  nearer  and  louder,  was  a 
cry  for  blood. 

The  man  who  had  questioned  Bess  then  began  again : 

"  But  I  say,  mistress  —  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue ! "  cried  a  woman  near  to  him. 
"  Have  you  no  heart  in  your  body,  man,  that  you  can 
keep  tormenting  this  poor  soul  as  is  in  trouble  enough, 
God  knows  ?  " 

The  man  slunk  off  at  this,  and  the  people  near  Bess 
kept  a  respectful  silence. 

The  roar  swelled  deeper  and  louder  and  nearer,  as 
the  streets  leading  from  the  Newgate  quarter  became 
black  with  approaching  people.  The  howl  for  blood 
echoed  to  the  heavens  and  again  to  the  earth  beneath ; 
and  when  it  seemed  to  fill  the  universe,  the  crowd 
parted,  showing  the  cart,  and  in  it  Dicky  Egremont 
and  one  of  his  gaolers. 

Bess  Lukens's  keen  eyes  sought  Dicky's  face,  thinking 
it  would  be  strange  and  glorified,  as  she  had  seen  it  the 
night  before ;  but  instead  he  looked  exactly  the  same 
pleasant-faced,  boyish  Dicky  she  had  seen  playing  the 
fiddle  in  Madame  Michot's  garden,  singing  Jacobite 
songs  and  laughing  with  her  and  Roger  at  St.  Ger- 
mains.  His  face  had  its  usual  ruddy  hue ;  his  few 
days  of  confinement  had  not  robbed  him  of  either  flesh 
or  color.  He  was  seen  to  be  pleasantly  conversing  with 
his  companion.  Ketch,  who  sat  on  the  bench  beside  him. 
He  wore  his  cassock  and  beretta ;  his  hands  were  tied 
together  behind  him. 

As  he  came  into  full  view,  something  like  a  groan  and 
shudder  went  around  among  a  part  of  the  crowd,  —  he 
was  so  young,  so  fresh-colored,  so  full  of  life.  He 
turned  around,  and  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  gallows  and 
all  the  other  gruesome  preparations  for  his  death,  but 

447 


The  House  of  Egremont 

he  did  not  show  so  much  as  by  the  flicker  of  an  eyelash 
the  least  fear  or  shrinking. 

The  cart  was  now  driven  up  close,  the  sheriff's  men 
closed  around  it,  and  the  gaoler,  getting  out  himself, 
prepared  to  aid  the  prisoner  to  descend.  But  Dicky, 
always  agile,  jumped  lightly  out  of  the  cart,  hampered 
as  he  was. 

The  crowd  pressed  closer  about  the  roped-off  space, 
and  among  them  was  Bess  Lukens.  As  she  caught 
Dicky's  eyes,  he  gave  her  a  glance  of  recognition,  but 
forbore  to  speak  or  bow,  or  in  any  way  indicate  that  he 
knew  her.     But  poor  Bess  cried  out  loudly,  — 

"  God  bless  and  help  thee,  Mr.  Egremont !  " 

"I  trust  He  will,"  answered  Dicky,  simply. 

The  people  who  frequented  executions  liked  to  have 
their  excitement  spun  out,  and  the  best  part  of  the 
show  was  to  them  the  last  words  of  the  condemned. 
No  officers  of  the  law  would  have  dared  to  balk  a 
London  mob  of  the  pleasure  of  hearing  a  victim  in  his 
own  defence ;  and  so,  when  a  ribald  voice  shouted  out, 
"  Come  now,  Master  Jesuit,  tell  us  how  you  come  to 
be  here,"  an  instant  hush  fell  upon  the  assembled  mul- 
titudes. 

"  My  friends,"  said  Dicky,  —  his  voice  ever  the 
sweetest  and  clearest,  with  something  in  it  of  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  larks  and  blackbirds  at  Egremont,  —  "I 
came  here  because  it  was  my  duty.  I  will  not  say  how 
I  came." 

At  this,  the  woman  who  had  rebuked  Bess's  tormen- 
tor suddenly  burst  into  tears  and  interrupted  him  by 
crying  out,  — 

"  It  was  a  shame  to  send  thee  here,  poor  boy." 

"  I  was  not  sent,"  said  Dicky;  "  it  was  by  favor  that 
I  came.     Every  Englishman  in  the   Society  of   Jesus 

448 


If  a  Man  Giveth  His  Life 

wished  to  come  in  my  place.  This  is  our  native  coun- 
try, and  we  love  her,  although  she  persecutes  us.  And 
I  call  God  to  witness,  and  you,  His  creatures,  to  believe 
that  I  die  joyfully  for  my  King,  James  Stuart,  and  for 
my  religion.  I  was  offered  my  life  if  I  would  abjure 
both,  but  no  true  man  can  barter  his  honor  and  his  con- 
science for  his  life.  I  ask  those  of  you  who  have  mercy 
in  your  hearts  to  pray  of  God  that  I  be  delivered  of  my 
sins,  and  also,  as  no  man  of  the  Society  of  Jesus  who  has 
fallen  under  the  executioner's  hand  has  died  other  than 
as  a  man  and  a  Jesuit  should  die,  so  pray  that  an  Egre- 
mont  be  not  the  first  to  do  otherwise.  For  although  at 
this  hour  I  am  about  to  face  the  great  God  before 
whom  gentle  and  simple  are  alike,  yet  I  would  not 
die  unworthy  of  my  ancestors.  And  if  it  be  a  sin  to 
think  of  such  things  at  such  a  time,  I  humbly  ask 
pardon  of  God  for  that,  along  with  my  other  offences. 
I  pardon  all  those  who  have  brought  me  to  this,  as  I 
hope  to  be  pardoned,  and  I  thank  God  that  after  much 
tribulation  His  grace  has  enabled  me  to  say  that  from 
my  heart." 

As  Dicky  finished  speaking,  there  was  a  silence,  a 
silence  that  was  like  that  of  the  grave,  among  all  those 
vast  multitudes  of  people  who  filled  the  open  space, 
choked  the  streets,  and  made  the  roofs  and  windows 
black  with  humanity.  And  in  the  midst  of  it  the  hang- 
man, dressed  in  red,  appeared  upon  the  scaffold  so 
strangely  and  quickly  that  he  seemed  like  a  spectre. 
As  soon  as  Dicky  saw  this  scarlet-clad  and  masked 
figure,  he  walked  steadily  up  the  rickety  steps  of  the 
gallows  and  turned  to  have  his  hands  untied.  This  the 
hangman  did,  and  then  went  through  the  usual  form  of 
asking  pardon  of  the  condemned. 

"I  pardon  thee  freely,  my  friend,"  replied  Dicky, 
29  449 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"  and  give  thee  the  only  thing  I  have  left  which  will 
be  of  service  to  thee." 

He  took  from  the  pocket  of  his  rusty  cassock  a  fine 
silk  handkerchief,  which  he  handed  the  hangman,  at  the 
same  time  saying  a  word  to  him  in  a  whisper. 

The  hangman  then  removed  the  cassock,  and  Dicky 
took  off  the  beretta  which  had  covered  his  fair  hair. 
The  hangman  rolled  the  cassock  and  beretta  into  a  bun- 
dle, and  then  threw  them  carelessly  behind  him.  They 
fell  almost  at  the  feet  of  Diggory  Hutchinson,  who 
quickly  seized  the  parcel,  and  hid  it  under  his  cloak 
without  being  seen. 

Dicky  then  stood  in  his  black  breeches  and  stockings 
and  his  white  shirt,  the  graceful  lines  of  his  young  figure 
silhouetted  against  the  morning  sky.  The  delicacy  of 
his  hands  and  feet,  his  girlish  red  and  white  complexion, 
were  singularly  striking. 

He  had  no  crucifix,  but  he  clasped  his  hands  and 
prayed  silently  for  the  space  of  a  minute.  Then,  raising 
his  head,  he  looked  about  him,  smiling.  The  sun,  which 
had  been  shining  hazily,  now  suddenly  blazed  out  in 
splendor,  and  all  the  earth  was  bathed  in  the  golden 
glory. 

As  Dicky's  intrepid  eyes  lighted  upon  Bess  Lukens, 
standing  pressed  against  the  rope,  she  cried  out  in  her 
musical,  high-pitched  voice,  — 

"  God  bless  thee  !  "  to  which  Dicky  called  back,  "  God 
bless  thee ! " 

Then,  making  the  sign  of  the  cross,  he  turned  to  the 
hangman. 

There  was  a  breathless  silence.  A  few  women  sobbed 
and  shrieked,  and  a  few  men,  racked  with  emotions 
strange  to  them,  swore  furiously,  having  no  other  mode 
of  expression.     They  saw  the  young  figure  drawn  up ; 

450 


If  a  Man  Giveth  His  Life 

there  were  a  few  convulsive  movements,  and  all  was 
still. 

The  crowd,  mostly  bloodthirsty,  began  to  yell,  "  Cut 
him  down !  Cut  the  Jesuit  down !  He'll  be  dead  be- 
fore he  is  quartered ! "  The  hangman  was  long  in 
doing  this,  but  presently  Dicky  Egremont  lay  upon  the 
ground  livid  and  panting ;  no  groan  escaped  him. 

The  executioner  then  produced  his  instrument,  —  a 
butcher's  knife  sharpened  like  a  razor.  He  plunged  it 
into  the  quivering  young  body  before  him.  There  was 
no  cry,  but  a  stifled  exclamation,  "  Lord  Jesus,  receive 
my  spirit !  "  The  butcher  did  his  horrid  work  ;  the  more 
bloody-minded  in  the  multitude  crowding  about  him 
to  dip  their  handkerchiefs  in  the  young  Jesuit's  blood, 
and  to  tear  off  strips  from  his  gory  clothing.  But  Dicky 
Egremont  felt  but  one  pang ;  the  Lord  Jesus  had  re- 
ceived his  spirit. 


451 


CHAPTER  XX 

"  HUGO   STEIN  IS  MY  EtTEMY,  AKD   I   AM   HIS,  AS   LONG 
AS  WE  BOTH   SHALL  LIVE  " 

FOUR  days  after  Dicky  Egremont's  execution  there 
was  a  great  stir  in  the  village  of  Egremont  at 
nightfall.  A  cart,  with  a  long  box  in  it,  had  halted  on 
the  edge  of  the  one  straggling  street.  At  the  head  of 
the  tired  horse  was  a  stolid-looking  boy,  and  close  by 
stood  Bess  Lukens.  She  wore  her  black  gown  and 
hood,  and  her  pale  face  showed  the  stress  of  the  dread- 
ful emotions  she  had  passed  through  and  the  travel 
from  London  by  day  and  night. 

It  was  yet  broad  daylight  in  the  fragrant  July  even- 
ing. Afar  off  the  many  windows  of  Egremont  glittered 
in  the  dying  glow  of  the  sun,  and  there  was  a  still 
sweetness  over  all  the  land.  Toil  was  no  more  for  that 
day.  Scarcely  had  the  cart  stopped  when  the  village 
people  began  to  collect  about  it,  curious  to  know  what 
the  long  box  contained,  and  what  business  brought  the 
strange,  pale,  handsome  young  woman  to  Egremont  at 
that  hour. 

Among  the  first  to  arrive  was  Hodge  the  shoemaker. 
The  windows  of  his  cottage  overlooked  the  spot. 

"  Good  people,"  asked  Bess,  in  a  voice  so  weary  that 
she  scarcely  knew  it  for  her  own,  and  looking  about 
among  the  assembled  villagers,  "  can  you  tell  me  if  one 
Hodge,  a  shoemaker,  lives  nigh  ?  " 

452 


<' Hugo  Stein  is  my  Enemy" 

"  Here  I  be,  mistress,"  answered  Hodge ;  "  and  yon- 
der is  my  house,  and  my  dame  is  within," 

"  Then  have  I  found  the  man  I  want.  In  this  box  is 
the  body  of  Mr.  Richard  Egremont,  executed  in  London 
last  Thursday." 

A  shudder  and  a  murmur  ran  through  the  crowd. 
All  of  them  had  known  Dicky  as  a  bright-eyed,  fair- 
haired  lad,  roaming  about  Egremont ;  many  of  them  had 
seen  him  but  three  weeks  before,  and  a  few  of  them  were 
among  those  he  had  given  his  life  to  serve. 

Bess  continued,  the  people  hanging  breathless  upon 
her  words  :  "  I  have  brought  his  poor  body  —  no  matter 
how  I  came  by  it  —  here  to  rest,  for  I  know  he  could 
never  lie  quiet  anywhere  but  at  Egremont.  The  bastard 
who  sits  yonder "  —  Bess  pointed  to  the  gables  and 
chimneys  and  roofs  of  Egremont,  shining  in  the  purple 
light  of  evening  —  "  the  bastard,  I  say,  would  deny  a 
true  Egremont  six  feet  by  two  of  their  own  land,  and 
so  I  come  to  ask  of  you  a  little  piece  of  earth  wherein 
to  lay  Mr.  Richard  until  Mr.  Roger  comes  to  his  own, 
and  can  lay  Mr.  Richard  in  the  family  vault." 

"  I  have  a  bit  of  land,  freehold,  mistress,"  spoke  up 
Hodge,  quickly.  "  It  cuts  like  a  tooth  into  the  park 
just  at  the  Dark  Pool,  by  the  willow  bank,  a  place  both 
Mr.  Roger  and  Mr.  Dicky  ever  loved,  and  used  to  fish, 
when  they  were  little  lads." 

"  Then,"  said  Bess,  "  will  you  look  to  it  that  a 
grave  is  prepared  this  night,  and  when  you  have  seen 
to  that,  will  you  speak  with  me  on  a  matter  near  my 
heart?" 

"  Truly  I  will,  mistress,"  replied  Hodge.  "  Trouble 
yourself  no  more  about  these  sad  things.  We  have  here 
laborers  enough  and  more  than  enough  to  do  all  that  Mr. 
Richard,  poor  lad,  requires  of  any  one  now.     So  leave  it 

453 


The  House  of  Egremont 

to  me,  and  go  you  to  my  house,  where  my  dame  will 
take  care  of  you," 

"  Before  I  go  into  your  house,"  said  Bess,  with  a  wan 
smile,  "  I  will  tell  you  who  it  is  you  entertain  so  freely 
and  kindly.  I  am  Bess  Lukens,  —  a  plain  woman,  one 
of  yourselves,  though  fortune  has  been  better  to  me  than 
to  most.  And  I  was  befriended  both  by  Mr,  Roger 
Egremont  and  Mr,  Richard  Egremont,  and  that  is  why 
I  brought  Mr,  Richard's  poor  body  here." 

Befriended !  Ah,  Bess,  Roger  and  Richard  told  a  dif- 
ferent tale  about  that. 

"Very  well.  Mistress  Lukens.  Go  into  my  cottage 
while  I  see  to  the  digging  of  the  grave,"  replied  Hodge. 

Bess  went  into  the  cottage,  where  Dame  Hodge  re- 
ceived her  civilly,  and  offered  her  a  glass  of  cider,  which 
she  drank  eagerly. 

"  For  I  am  mortal  tired,"  she  said,  her  pale  looks  con- 
firming her ;  "  and  I  have  had  a  heart  like  lead  in  my 
bosom  these  five  days  and  nights." 

In  a  few  minutes  Hodge  reappeared.  "  It 's  all 
planned,  mistress,"  he  said.  Although  Bess  had  declared 
herself  to  be  of  the  same  class  as  the  village  people, 
all  of  them,  including  Hodge,  saw  there  was  a  gulf 
between  plain  people  like  her  and  plain  people  like 
them.  "The  grave  will  be  ready  and  the  burial  can 
take  place  at  ten  of  the  clock.  And  will  you  tell  us 
about  Mr.  Richard  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  replied  Bess,  "  but  something  else 
must  come  before  that.  Mr.  Richard  died  forgiving  his 
enemies,  but  I  a'n't  ready  to  forgive  any  of  mine  until 
I  've  dealt  'em  one  good  blow  anyhow.  Now,  as  you 
know,  the  bastard  yonder  swore  Mr.  Richard's  life  away, 
and  I  want  him  to  be  brought  to  look  on  his  work. 
Will  you  help  me  to  do  this  ?  " 

454 


"  Hugo  Stein  is  my  Enemy" 

"Ay,  that  I  will,"  fiercely  responded  Hodge.  "We 
know  't  was  that  villain  who  gave  Mr.  Richard  up,  and 
there 's  more  than  one  man  in  this  parish  who  would 
give  a  month's  wages  to  pay  off  Sir  Hugo  Egremont,  as 
he  calls  himself  —  the  rascal !  " 

"  Then,"  said  Bess,  recovering  her  animation,  "  call 
you  these  men  together,  and  tell  them  what  I  tell  you. 
I  mean  to  beguile  Hugo  Stein  to  Mr.  Richard  Egre- 
mont's  grave,  and  to  keep  him  there  the  whole  night 
through.  'T  is  a  small  enough  punishment  —  I  misdoubt 
that  he  will  much  trouble  himself  —  but  't  is  the  best  I 
can  do,  and  at  least  I  can  put  him  in  a  mortal  rage,  and 
that  is  better  than  nothing  !  " 

Bess  was  dealing  with  persons  of  her  own  class  then, 
and  her  plan  of  vengeance,  which  seemed  to  her  so 
natural  and  so  just,  appeared  also  natural  and  just  to 
them. 

"  I  can  very  easy  get  him  there,"  continued  Bess  with 
a  meaning  look.  "  All  I  have  to  do  is  to  send  him  a 
message  from  a  woman  and  pay  the  messenger  to  say  I 
am  young  and  handsome,  and  Sir  Hugo  will  come ;  for 
never  did  I  see  a  scoundrel  who  would  not  rise  to  any 
sort  of  a  bait." 

Hodge  grinned  at  the  prospect. 

"  You  are  right  there,  mistress,"  he  said.  "  I  can  find 
you  a  messenger  quick  enough,  and  't  will  not  be  neces- 
sary to  bribe  him  to  say  you  are  young  and  handsome. 
Sir  Hugo  is  at  Egremont  to-night.  I  saw  him  riding 
home  not  an  hour  ago." 

Hodge  went  out,  and  presently  came  back  with  a 
sharp-eyed  boy.  Bess,  who  had  passed  the  interval  sit- 
ting wearily  upon  the  settle,  her  head  on  her  hand, 
lifted  her  eyes  as  Hodge  brought  the  boy  forward. 

"  My  lad,"  she  said,  giving  him  a  shilling,  "  go  you 

455 


The  House  of  Egremont 

to  Egremont,  and  contrive  to  say  to  Sir  Hugo  that  a 
lady  wishes  to  see  him  at  the  willow  bank  by  the  Dark 
Pool  at  ten  of  the  clock,  and  give  him  this  handker- 
chief as  a  token."  She  handed  the  boy  a  fine  hand- 
kerchief with  lace  on  it,  "  If  he  asks  my  name,  you 
don't  know  it." 

"  Nobody  have  called  your  name  afore  me,"  replied 
the  lad,  cunningly. 

"  And  nobody  will.  If  Sir  Hugo  asks  what  sort  of  a 
lady  I  am  —  " 

"  1 11  say  you  are  young  and  monstrous  handsome," 
answered  the  boy,  with  a  roguish  smile. 

"  And  now,"  said  Bess  to  Hodge,  the  boy  having 
departed,  "  what  I  wish  you  to  do  is  this,  —  to  tie  Sir 
Hugo  hand  and  foot,  and  to  leave  him  lying  all  night 
on  the  ground  by  Mr.  Richard's  grave ;  not  too  close,  for 
't  would  dishonor  the  poor  dead  boy.  Are  you  afraid  to 
do  this?" 

"  Not  I,"  stoutly  said  Hodge,  "  and  besides,  I  and  the 
man  that  will  do  it  can  cover  our  faces  so  we  '11  not  be 
known.  There 's  scarce  a  man  in  this  village  who  has 
not  a  grudge  to  pay  back  against  Sir  Hugo ;  he  is  a  cruel 
landlord.  And  there  are  two  men  here,  father  and  son, 
who  have  tilled  the  fields  of  Egremont  since  they  were 
lads.  There  was  a  daughter,  little  more  than  a  child, 
—  you  know  such  stories,  mistress  ?  " 

"  Alas,  I  have  heard  them  often." 

"  T  is  the  old  story.  But  these  two  men  take  it  not 
patiently,  and  though  they  be  quiet  and  say  nothing, 
't  would  not  surprise  me  in  the  least  if  Sir  Hugo  were 
found  some  day  on  the  roadside,  with  his  brains  beaten 
out  by  a  stone,  or  a  brick,  or  some  such  thing  as  every 
man  finds  to  his  hand  when  he  wishes  to  be  avenged  on 
his  enemy." 

456 


(( 


Hugo  Stein  is  my  Enemy 


"  Then  do  you  bring  those  two  men  there ;  but  first  let 
us  lay  Mr.  Richard  to  rest,  and  cover  him  with  the  soil 
of  Egremont.  Mr.  Roger  never  sleeps  but  with  a  little 
bag  of  Egremont  earth  under  his  head.  And  when  all 
is  over,  then  shall  that  wretched  man  Sir  Hugo  be  pun- 
ished as  far  as  God  will  let  us  punish  him." 

A  little  before  ten  o'clock  a  small  procession  made 
its  way  slowly  toward  the  Dark  Pool,  that  place  where 
Dicky  as  a  little  boy  had  spent  so  many  sunny  hours, 
sitting  under  the  willows  with  his  hook  and  line,  not 
much  caring  whether  he  caught  any  of  the  silvery  fish 
or  not,  but  happy  to  be  in  so  sweet  a  spot,  —  especially 
if  Roger  were  sitting  with  him.  The  grave  was  ready, 
and  after  a  short  prayer  by  Hodge,  who  was  a  religious 
man,  Dicky  Egremont  was  laid  to  rest.  The  prayer  of 
a  poor  and  ignorant  man  was  the  only  consecration  of 
Dicky's  grave  except  the  memory  of  a  good  life. 

When  all  was  over,  every  one  departed,  except  Bess 
Lukens.  She  appeared  to  be  alone,  but  behind  the 
willows,  in  the  black  shadows,  lurked  the  three  humble 
men  who  meant  to  pay  off  their  debt  against  Hugo 
Stein,  as  well  as  they  could  in  their  own  poor  way. 

The  crescent  moon  arose,  and  shone  upon  the  new- 
made  mound,  beside  which  Bess  Lukens  knelt,  and 
made  a  prayer,  weeping  as  she  prayed.  It  came  to  her, 
though,  that  Dicky's  sleep  was  sweet.  Sharp  as  had 
been  the  agony  through  which  he  passed,  it  had  been 
short,  —  and  he  could  now  no  more  suffer.  This  thought 
took  tranquil  possession  of  her  soul,  and  soothed  her. 
And  then  her  fixed  resolution  to  take  such  vengeance 
as  she  could  on  Hugo  Stein  seemed  to  her  simple  mind 
an  act  of  justice  such  as  inspired  Judith  when  she  slew 
the  enemy  of  her  people,  and  Jael  when  her  woman's 
arm  drove  home   the   blow  from   which  the   sleeping 

457 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Shulamite  never  wakened.  So  far  from  feeling  shame, 
Bess  Lukens  felt  that  solemn  serenity  which  follows 
upon  the  determination  to  do  well  and  instantly  one's 
stern  and  hateful  duty.  Remember,  she  was  but  a  gaol- 
er's niece,  was  this  Bess  Lukens,  —  and  she  reasoned 
and  acted  as  a  woman  of  the  people,  —  which  she  was. 

Bess  rose  to  her  feet,  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down 
in  the  shadows  made  by  the  willows.  It  was  a  warm 
July  night,  and  so  quiet  that  the  only  sound  heard  was 
the  voice  of  the  Dark  Pool,  as  it  murmured  faintly 
under  the  moon  and  stars.  There  was  a  path,  leading 
through  a  thicket  by  which  Hugo  must  come,  and 
Bess,  in  her  walk,  narrowly  watched  this  path.  Pres- 
ently she  heard  a  step  not  far  away  from  her.  It  gave 
her  a  thrill,  it  was  so  like  Roger  Egremont's,  for  in 
some  minor  things  the  half-brothers  were  alike.  The 
step  came  nearer,  quite  close  to  her,  and  stopped. 
Hugo  Stein  saw,  in  the  high  lights  and  deep  shadows 
of  a  moonlight  night,  the  graceful  figure  of  a  woman 
walking  up  and  down.  Her  black  hood  was  drawn 
over  her  face,  so  he  could  not  distinguish  her  features, 
but  he  knew  instinctively  that  she  was  young  and 
handsome. 

As  he  stopped,  Bess  advanced,  and  throwing  back  her 
hood  looked  so  directly  into  his  face,  with  her  eyes 
sparkling  brightly,  that  Sir  Hugo  was  a  little  discon- 
certed. He  stepped  back  involuntarily,  and  Bess  came 
a  step  nearer  to  him. 

Her  beauty  was  so  dazzling,  her  personality  so  vivid, 
that  Hugo  Stein  was  moved  and  thrilled.  Her  first 
words  were  startling,  and  highly  disagreeable  to  hear, 
but  startling  and  disagreeable  words  do  not  prevent  a 
man  like  Hugo  Stein  from  pursuing  the  acquaintance  of 
a  woman  so  handsome  as  Bess  Lukens. 

458 


"Hugo  Stein  is  my  Enemy" 

"  There 's  nothing  for  you  to  be  afraid  of,"  she  said, 
in  her  rich  and  ringing  voice.  "  There  's  nothing  here 
except  a  woman  and  a  dead  man." 

Hugo  Stein  was  not  a  man  to  be  frightened  by  either 
a  woman  or  a  dead  man.  He  was  puzzled  and  inter- 
ested to  the  last  degree  by  the  unknown  beautiful 
woman,  who  showed  at  the  first  glance,  to  his  prac- 
tised eye,  that  she  was  not  a  gentlewoman,  nor  was 
she  a  common  woman  either.  He  replied  promptly  and 
gallantly,  — 

"  Truly,  there  is  much  to  fear  from  a  woman  so  beau- 
tiful as  yourself.  Tell  me,  Miss  Bright  Eyes,  who  are 
you,  and  what  can  Sir  Hugo  Egremont  do  for  you?  " 

"  As  for  who  I  am,  't  is  easy  told  ;  perhaps  you  may 
have  heard  of  me.  I  am  known  as  Mademoiselle  Luc- 
cheni  at  Paris,  —  of  the  King's  Opera,  —  just  as  you  are 
known  as  Sir  Hugo  Egremont  of  Egremont.  But  I  am 
in  truth  plain  Bess  Lukens,  just  as  you  are  plain  Hugo 
Stein." 

Hugo  Stein's  face  changed,  —  no  man  or  woman  ever 
called  him  by  his  true  name,  except  to  do  him  a  mis- 
chief. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  coolly,  but  with  malice  in  his  eye.  "  I 
have  heard  of  you,  —  the  daughter,  —  or  is  it  the  niece  ? 
of  a  turnkey  in  Newgate." 

"  True,"  replied  Bess,  ' '  but  like  you,  I  've  had  a  rise 
in  life.  How  pleased  my  uncle  the  turnkey,  and  your 
mother,  the  harlot,  would  be  if  they  could  see  us 
now !  " 

"  Miss  Lukens,"  said  Hugo  Stein  after  a  pause,  "  you 
are  a  very  impudent  hussy,  and  I  shall  leave  you." 

He  turned  upon  his  heel  to  go. 

"  Oh,  no,"  cried  Bess,  seizing  his  arm  in  her  strong 
grasp.     "  Do  you  think  I  got  you  here  to  spend  only 

459 


The  House  of  Egremont 

five  minutes  in  pleasant  conversation  ?  Not  at  all.  I 
want  some  hours  of  your  company  on  this  spot." 

As  she  spoke,  she  made  a  signal,  and  before  Hugo 
Stein  knew  what  was  happening  to  him,  three  masked 
men  sprang  from  behind  the  hedge,  seized  and  bound 
him  hand  and  foot,  and  flung  him  down  full  length  on 
the  ground,  a  little  way  from  Dicky's  grave. 

"Lie  you  there,  Hugo  Stein,"  cried  Bess,  standing 
over  Hugo's  prostrate  body.  "  Lie  you  there  this  night 
through.  In  yonder  new-made  grave  lies  the  lad  you 
murdered.  Some  day  will  you  be  judged  for  it,  and 
judged  for  robbing  your  brother  of  his  name  and  his 
estate.  But  before  that  awful  judgment  comes,  you 
shall  have  this  one  night  on  which  you  shall  suffer. 
Shout  now,  if  you  like,  —  no  one  will  hear  you  or  heed 
you  until  to-morrow  morning.  Proclaim  it,  if  you  like, 
through  the  country  of  Devon,  bawl  it  through  all  Eng- 
land, bray  it  throughout  Europe,  —  that  you  were  bound 
hand  and  foot,  and  made  to  spend  the  night  upon  the 
bare  ground,  close  to  the  grave  of  the  innocent  man  you 
brought  to  the  gallows.  Would  that  you  had  been  in  his 
place  !  But  not  too  close.  I  would  not  let  them  lay  you 
too  near  the  righteous  dust  of  Richard  Egremont,  — 
't  would  be  to  dishonor  it.  In  the  morning,  some  plough- 
man or  dairymaid  may  perchance  release  you,  —  and 
then,  go  your  way,  Hugo  Stein.  But  let  me  tell  you 
one  thing  more,  —  something  tells  me  you  will  not  tarry 
long  after  this  poor  lad.  Make  you  ready  to  leave  this 
world,  —  for  I  feel  it  and  I  know  it,  that  your  soul  will 
shortly  be  required  of  you." 

Within  a  week  Bess  Lukens  was  back  in  Paris.  She 
lost  not  a  minute  in  leaving  England,  never,  as  she 
promised  herself,  to  return  to  it.     Her  first  duty  was  to 

460 


"Hugo  Stein  is  my  Enemy" 

write  a  long  and  exact  letter  to  Roger  Egremont,  de- 
tailing all  the  circumstances  of  Dicky's  last  days,  as  he 
had  told  them  to  her ;  and  of  her  getting  his  body  by  the 
power  of  money  and  bringing  it  to  Egremont  to  be 
buried.  When  it  came  to  telling  of  her  beguiling  Hugo 
Stein  to  the  grave,  for  the  first  time  she  hesitated. 
Should  she  tell  him  that,  or  should  she  not  ?  She  had 
an  instinctive  feeling  that  a  gentlewoman  would  not 
have  done  it;  the  particular  gentlewoman  she  had  in 
mind  was  the  Princess  Michelle.  She  in  no  wise  re- 
pented of  it,  and  would  have  done  it  all  over  again 
without  the  least  hesitation;  but  —  but  — 

Her  native  honesty  triumphed,  and  she  wrote  Roger 
every  detail,  describing  Hugo  Stein's  writhing  and 
cursing  on  the  ground,  and  gnashing  his  teeth,  and 
calling  her  vile  names  as  she  walked  away  and  left 
him ;  but  something  like  shame  made  her  add,  — 

"  Think  not  hard  of  me,  Roger,  for  this ;  remember, 
after  all,  I  am  but  Bess  Lukens,  no  gentlewoman,  but 
come  of  plain  working  stock,  and  I  am  not  like  a  gen- 
tlewoman, and  I  know  it ;  so  judge  me  not  by  what  a 
gentlewoman  would  have  done." 

She  took  the  letter  to  St.  Germains,  where  the  sad 
news  of  Dicky's  fate  was  known.  She  went  to  the 
chateau  and  handed  her  letter  to  the  King's  secretary, 
that  it  might  be  forwarded  to  Roger  Egremont.  To  her 
amazement,  and  her  deep  gratification,  she  was  received 
almost  as  a  heroine.  The  King  and  Queen  sent  for  her, 
and  when  Bess,  in  her  simple,  but  dramatic  way,  told 
her  tale,  she  suddenly  found  herself  moving  her  lis- 
teners as  she  had  never  done  on  the  stage ;  and  when, 
at  last,  her  strong  self-control  gave  way,  and  she  burst 
into  a  passion  of  tears  in  describing  Dicky's  last  mo- 
ments,   no   one   who   heard   her  was    dry-eyed.      Bess 

461 


The  House  of  Egremont 

Lukens,  the  gaoler's  niece,  left  St.  Germains  with  the 
respect  of  royal  and  noble  persons,  to  which,  in  her 
wildest  dreams,  she  had  never  aspired.  She  returned 
to  Madame  de  Beaumanoir  also,  through  the  King's 
secretary,  the  money  the  old  lady  had  lent  her,  less  a 
small  sum  she  had  used ;  and  then,  going  back  to  Paris, 
she  resumed  her  life  of  work  and  kindness,  caring  more 
tenderly  for  the  old  Mazets  than  ever,  and  doing  cheer- 
fully all  the  good  that  her  hand  found  to  do.  Dicky's 
death  had  sobered  and  softened  her ;  but  it  did  not 
greatly  change  her. 

She  had  not  gone  to  see  Madame  de  Beaumanoir ; 
first,  because  she  did  not  feel  equal  to  seeing  the  old 
lady  then ;  and  second,  because  she  had  a  shrinking 
from  anything  that  savored  of  association  with  the 
Princess  Michelle.  She  supposed  Michelle  to  be  living 
in  heartless  splendor  and  frivolity,  as  reigning  Princess 
of  Orlamunde.  Bess  was  not  in  the  way  of  hearing 
anything  about  Orlamunde,  especially  as  she  went  no 
more  to  St.  Germains  just  then.  Poor  old  Papa  Mazet 
was  growing  daily  feebler ;  and  as  Bess  was  obliged  to 
be  absent  from  home  the  evenings  she  sang  at  the  Opera, 
she  spent  all  the  time  which  was  her  own  closely  in  the 
tall  old  house  where  all  her  years  in  Paris  had  been 
passed.  She  watched  and  tended  both  of  the  old  people 
constantly  and  tenderly,  and  so  had  no  leisure  to  go 
anywhere. 

It  came  to  be  September,  and  late  one  afternoon  she 
sat  alone  in  the  large  room  on  the  ground-floor,  where 
all  the  musical  instruments  were,  and  where  she  usually 
sang  and  played.  She  was  not  now  always  trilling  and 
singing  as  she  had  once  been.  So  many  songs  she  loved 
brought  with  them  the  memory  of  Dicky's  violin,  its 
sweet  strains  threading  the  melody  after  her  voice  and 

462 


^^  Hugo  Stein  is  my  Enemy" 

being  almost  another  voice,  that  it  broke  her  heart  to 
sing  them ;  and  she  had  sung  less  since  her  return  from 
England  than  ever  before  in  her  life. 

She  had  been  busily  sewing,  but  the  waning  light 
had  forced  her  to  stop.  For  once  she  was  idle,  sitting 
with  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and  watching  the  coming  of 
the  dusky  shadows  in  the  great  room,  as  the  mellow 
glow  faded  away.  Her  mind  flew  to  Roger  Egremont. 
Where  was  he  now  ?  When  would  he  get  her  letter  ? 
And  how  great  would  be  his  grief ! 

So  softly  the  door  opened,  and  so  quietly  a  woman 
entered,  that  she  too  seemed  one  of  the  shadows.  In 
an  instant  Bess  recognized  her  —  it  was  the  Princess 
Michelle.  Bess  had  supposed  her  to  be  at  Orlamunde, 
on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  ;  but  so  quickly  did  the 
sight  of  Michelle  bring  to  Bess  all  her  understanding, 
all  her  composure,  that  she  showed  not  the  least  sur- 
prise. Michelle  was  dressed  with  a  nun-like  simplicity 
in  black,  and  as  she  advanced,  throwing  back  the  hood 
of  her  mantle,  she  said  calmly,  — 

"  Mistress  Lukens,  do  you  not  know  me?  " 

"Certainly,  madam,  I  do,"  replied  Bess,  promptly, 
rising.  "  It  is  the  Princess  of  Orlamunde.  Will  you  be 
seated  ?  " 

In  the  trifling  action  of  Michelle's  taking  the  chair 
offered  her  by  Bess,  the  difference  in  the  caste  of  the 
two  women  was  plain.  Bess  Lukens  had  vastly  less 
respect  for  rank  than  was  usual  in  her  class  and  in  her 
age,  and  this  unfortunate  Michelle,  who  bore  the  title 
of  princess,  had  certainly  as  little  the  surroundings  and 
the  state  of  a  princess  as  one  could  imagine.  Yet  she 
accepted  the  chair  with  a  haughty  grace  impossible  for 
Bess  Lukens  to  achieve.  Bess  could  be  haughty  and 
she  could  be  graceful,  but  not  be  both  at  the  same  time. 

463 


The  House  of  Egremont 

As  Bess  said  "  Princess  of  Orlamunde  "  Michelle  col- 
ored slightly,  but  she  responded  in  her  usual  sweet  and 
composed  voice,  — 

"  I  do  not  desire  —  and  I  think  I  have  no  more  right 
-  to  be  called  by  that  title.  I  have  left  Orlamunde  for- 
ever. I  now  wish  to  be  called  simply  the  Princess 
Michelle."  She  paused  a  little,  and  then  continued :  "■  I 
am  living  for  the  present  at  the  house  of  the  Scotch 
Benedictines.     It  is  not  far  from  here." 

Bess  listened  in  surprise.  "Is  your  husband,  then, 
dead  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Dead  to  me,"  replied  Michelle  ;  "  dead  and  buried. 
But  I  did  not  come  to  trouble  you  with  my  affairs.  I 
came  to  ask  you  some  of  the  particulars  of  Father 
Egremont's  execution.  I  understand  you  were  with 
him  the  night  before  he  suffered.  I  did  not  know 
Father  Egremont  very  well,  but  —  but  —  I  took  great 
interest  in  him  —  so  young  —  so  brave  —  " 

Bess  looked  at  Michelle,  gravely  considering  her. 
She  had  left  her  husband  —  that  was  plain.  And 
whence  came  this  profound  interest  in  a  man  she  only 
slightly  knew,  as  she  admitted  of  Dicky  Egremont? 
Why,  Roger  Egremont,  of  course. 

"Perhaps  it  is  on  Mr.  Roger  Egremont's  account," 
said  Bess,  coolly  and  not  without  malice.  "  I  remember 
that  he  accompanied  you  upon  your  marriage  journey. 
He  is  a  man,  once  known,  likely  to  be  remembered." 

Michelle's  face  turned  scarlet,  and  her  eyes  flashed. 
She  half  rose  from  her  chair.  The  insolence  of  this 
creature !  Rightly  was  she  served  in  coming  there. 
The  desire  to  hear  and  know  something  of  Dicky's  sad 
fate  came  truly,  as  Bess  had  broadly  hinted,  from  that 
overmastering  interest  which  Michelle  had  in  everybody 
and  everything  that  Roger  Egremont  loved.     And  there 

464 


"Hugo  Stein  is  my  Enemy" 

had  been  some  faint,  wild  hope  that  she  could  hear 
something  of  Roger  from  Bess.  She  had  not  heard  one 
word,  or  had  one  line  from  him  since  that  June  evening 
at  la  Riviere,  when  she  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  little 
room  on  the  bridge,  and  watched  him  as  he  sat  by  the 
open  window,  looking  at  her  with  strange,  agonized,  yet 
adoring  eyes.  And  she  had  so  longed  to  know  something 
of  him  since !  The  idea  that  this  humble  prot^g^e  of 
Roger's,  this  Bess  Lukens,  should  dare  to  question  her, 
the  Princess  Michelle,  had  not  dawned  upon  her  at  first, 
and  now  it  was  impertinent  and  altogether  intolerable. 
Then  suddenly  the  poignant  recollection  of  a  certain  re- 
cent period  in  her  life  flashed  over  her.  What  right 
had  she  to  be  haughty  to  this  woman,  or  to  any  other 
woman,  after  la  Riviere  ?  This  thought  made  her  sit 
down  again,  as  pale  as  death.  Perhaps  Bess  —  the  whole 
world  —  knew  about  la  Riviere.  She  had  fled  from  it, 
had  done  penance  for  it,  and  at  the  same  time  had  used 
all  the  considerable  wit  with  which  God  had  endowed 
her  to  keep  it  secret ;  and  this  was  more  for  the  sake  of 
the  man  she  loved  than  for  herself  —  and  Michelle  was 
the  proudest  of  proud  women. 

Bess  divined,  rather  than  saw,  the  Princess  Michelle's 
agitation,  and  did  not  feel  sorry  for  her.  The  silence 
was  prolonged,  and  neither  woman  spoke.  Bess  would 
not,  Michelle  could  not. 

At  last  Michelle,  trembling  and  fearful,  took  refuge 
again  in  asking  about  Dicky  Egremont,  and  Bess,  hav- 
ing no  reason  to  decline,  told  her  of  it  briefly.  But  she 
could  not  tell  it  without  being  moved  herself  and  mov- 
ing others,  and  she  softened  when  she  saw  tears  drop- 
ping silently  from  Michelle's  eyes  upon  her  black 
mantle, 

Bess  told  all,  even  the  story  of  her  carrying  Dicky's 
30  465 


The  House  of  Egremont 

body  to  Egremont,  and  the  punishment  she  devised  for 
Hugo  Stein.  When  she  reached  that  part  Michelle's 
eyes  quickly  grew  bright  and  dry.  She  leaned  for- 
ward, her  hand  upon  the  arm  of  her  chair,  the  color 
mantling  her  pale  cheeks  when  Bess  described  Hugo 
Stein's  rage  and  anguish  as  he  lay  helpless  and  prone 
and  cursing  upon  the  ground. 

"  I  punished  him  all  I  could,  and  I  can  say  truly  I 
have  not  lost  one  wink  of  sleep  nor  ate  a  morsel  the 
less  for  it,"  concluded  Bess,  stoutly. 

At  these  words,  Michelle  rose  and  grasped  her  by  both 
hands. 

"  I  thank  you,"  she  said.  "  I  thank  you  for  all  you 
did  to  Hugo  Stein,  I  thank  any  man  or  woman  for 
punishing  Hugo  Stein.  He  has  injured  me  in  a  way  no 
woman  could  forgive,  or  should  forgive,  for  he  insulted 
all  pure  women  in  me.  And  he  is  my  enemy  and  I  am 
his  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  I  will  cheerfully  shake  hands  with  you  on  that," 
cried  Bess,  and  their  mutual  hatred  of  Hugo  Stein 
brought  them  together  for  a  moment,  to  draw  violently 
apart  the  next  minute  because  they  both  loved  Roger 
Egremont.     And  it  came  about  in  this  way. 

The  mention  of  Hugo  Stein  and  the  sharp  remem- 
brance of  Roger  could  not  put  Dicky  entirely  out  of 
Michelle's  mind.  She  resumed  her  chair,  and  after  sit- 
ting thoughtfully  for  a  time,  Bess  meanwhile  watching 
her,  she  said,  — 

"After  all,  I  know  not  why  we  should  pity  Father 
Egremont.  He  died  in  his  white-souled  youth,  and 
very  gloriously.  Of  all  deaths  one  should  wish  to  die 
for  one's  duty,  for  one's  country,  one's  king,  and  one's 
religion." 

Bess  looked  at  Michelle  with  a  kind  of  horror.     With 

466 


"Hugo  Stein  is  my  Enemy*' 

all  Bess  Lukens's  large  and  liberal  soul,  she  had  very 
little  idea  of  noblesse  oblige.  She  would  have  died  cheer- 
fully for  a  person,  but  not  for  a  cause.  This  was  some- 
thing not  to  be  understood  by  her.  Stout  Protestant  as 
she  was,  she  was  no  candidate  for  martyrdom,  and  she 
regarded  these  notions  of  devotion  to  an  abstract  thing 
as  an  evidence  of  cold-heartedness.  As  she  had  never 
happened  to  see  it  except  among  the  great,  she  rashly 
concluded  that  it  was  due  to  their  insensibility.  Es- 
pecially was  she  prone  to  think  so  in  this  case,  for  be- 
tween the  Princess  Michelle  and  Bess  Lukens  was  that 
armed  neutrality  which  must  ever  exist  between  two 
women  who  love  the  same  man.  Bess  was  ready  enough 
to  admit  that  she  was  no  mate  for  Roger  Egremont,  or 
any  gentleman  of  his  caste,  but  she  did  not  love  the 
woman  who  was  fitting  to  be  his  mate,  and  was  prone 
to  see  evil  in  her.  She  looked  at  Michelle  with  bit- 
terly reproachful  eyes,  and  burst  out  with,  — 

"That  is  the  way  with  you  fine  ladies.  You  don't 
care,  not  you,  that  the  poor  lad  is  gone ;  and  let  me  tell 
you,  the  death  that  Dicky  Egremont  died  is  a  very  aw- 
ful one.  I  never  saw  one  before,  though  I  was  brought 
up  in  Newgate  gaol,  where  my  uncle  was  turnkey ;  and  I 
can  tell  you,  to  see  that  innocent  young  man  led  forth, 
and  that  bloody  butcher,  the  hangman,  making  ready 
with  his  great  knife,  and  the  cutting  up  alive  — " 

The  recollection  of  these  horrors  so  worked  upon  Bess 
that  she  bowed  her  face  in  her  hands;  but  in  a  little 
while  it  came  to  her  that  she  had  betrayed  the  secret  she 
was  most  anxious  to  conceal,  —  the  secret  of  her  origin, 
—  and  had  betrayed  it  to  the  last  person  on  earth  she 
wished  to  know  it.  But  this  unfortunate  admission  on 
the  part  of  this  untrained  woman  of  the  people  was 
matched  instantly  with  one  made  by  a  princess  bred  in 

467 


The  House  of  Egremont 

courts,  —  such  damage  will  women  do  themselves  when 
playing  with  the  edged  tools  of  the  emotions.  Michelle 
said,  in  a  voice  which  showed  the  deepest  agitation,  — 

"Mr.  Roger  Egremont  told  me  that  you  had  been 
kind  to  him  when  he  was  in  prison  in  England,  but  he 
did  not  tell  me  that  you  were  the  niece  of  his  gaoler. 
You  saw  him,  then,  every  day  ?  " 

"  Every  day  for  more  than  three  years,  madam,"  re- 
plied Bess.  Both  women  had  risen  then,  and  were  facing 
each  other,  Bess  crimson  and  defiant,  Michelle  pale  and 
profoundly  agitated.  Some  wild  impulse,  the  insane 
desire  to  know  all,  forced  her  to  continue  asking  ques- 
tions which  filled  her  soul  with  shame,  but  yet  which  she 
could  not  refrain  from  asking. 

"  You  followed  him  to  St.  Germains,  then  ?  " 

"  I  came  to  France,  madam,"  replied  Bess,  "  because 
I  felt  I  could  never  rise,  but  would  rather  sink  lower  in 
England,  and  because  King  James  is  my  king,  and  not 
the  Prince  of  Orange.  I  own  to  you,  had  I  not  known 
Mr.  Roger  Egremont  was  in  France,  I  should  hardly 
have  come.  And  he  has  repaid  me,  a  thousand  times 
and  more,  what  little  I  did  for  him  in  Newgate  gaol." 

Michelle  continued  looking  at  Bess  with  a  hostile  and 
jealous  gaze  quite  beyond  her  to  control,  and  Bess  re- 
turned the  gaze  with  interest. 

"And  is  it  possible  — "  Michelle  began,  and  then 
stopped. 

Bess  Lukens's  eyes  were  blazing  by  that  time,  and  she 
seemed  to  grow  taller  every  minute.  No  danger  of  her 
bursting  into  tears  then,  as  she  had  done  under  Madame 
de  Beaumanoir's  charge.  She  only  said,  in  a  voice  mod- 
erate, but  ringing  with  emotion,  — 

"  No,  it  is  not  possible.  I  know  what  you  would 
imply.     And  I  tell  you  to  ask  Mr.  Roger  Egremont 

468 


"Hugo  Stein  is  my  Enemy" 

to  show  you  a  certain  scar  he  has  upon  his  left 
temple,  and  then  ask  him  what  his  opinion  is  of  Bess 
Lukens." 

"  You  misunderstand  me,"  answered  Michelle,  gently. 
"I  meant  was  it  possible  that  Roger  Egremont  loved 
you  ?  You  are  a  very  handsome  woman,  Bess  Lukens, 
far  handsomer  than  I,  and  you  have  gifts  and  graces 
besides.  It  would  not  surely  be  strange  if,  seeing  you 
every  day,  and  experiencing  your  kindness,  Roger  Egre- 
mont had  loved  you.  It  would  be  strange  if  he  did 
not." 

"  What  passed  between  me  and  Mr.  Roger  Egremont 
concerns  but  us  two ;  but  know  you,  there  is  nothing 
that  ever  happened  which  could  not  be  proclaimed  aloud 
on  the  terrace  at  St.  Germains  of  a  Sunday.  Can  you  say 
as  much  ?  " 

It  was  only  a  chance  shot,  but  it  went  home.  Michelle's 
slight  figure  wavered  a  little  —  she  caught  the  back  of 
her  chair  for  support.  She  had  known  all  the  time  she 
was  at  la  Riviere,  and  every  moment  since  she  had  left 
it,  that  this  horror  of  discovery  would  be  hers  —  but  it 
was  the  first  time  it  had  made  itself  felt. 

"  Mr.  Roger  Egremont  has  been  very  —  very  kind  to 
me,"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "  You  had  the  privilege  of 
being  kind  to  him,  but  he  and  the  Duke  of  Berwick, 
at  Orlamunde,  where  I  was  grossly  insulted  by  Hugo 
Stein  —  so  grossly  you  cannot  imagine  —  they  succored 
me." 

And  then  there  was  a  pause.  Michelle  had  not  heard 
one  word  of  Roger  Egremont,  except  that  he  had  seen 
this  beautiful  girl  daily  for  three  years,  —  a  thing  he 
had  never  breathed  to  her.  She  ardently  desired  to 
hear  more,  but  she  dared  not  ask.  The  pause  continued, 
—  a  pause  which  Bess  Lukens  declined  to  break.    Both 

469 


The  House  of  Egremont 

of  them  continued  standing,  and  as  Bess  did  not  resume 
her  chair,  Michelle  felt  herself  invited  to  go- 
In  going,  however,  she  was  once  more  the  Princess. 
She  might,  remembering  la  Riviere,  abase  herself  in  soul 
below  Bess  Lukens ;  but  when  she  walked  in  or  out  of 
a  room,  or  said  good-day  or  good-bye,  she  was  the  great 
lady.     She  made  Bess  a  sweeping  curtsey,  saying,  — 

"  Mistress  Lukens,  I  thank  you  for  receiving  me,  and 
for  all  you  have  told  me,  and  for  what  you  did  to  Hugo 
Stein ;  and  if  I  said  anything  to  wound  you,  I  beg  you 
will  forgive  me  and  believe  I  meant  it  not." 

"  I  will,"  replied  Bess ;  "  I  think  we  both  be  friends 
of  Mr.  Roger  Egremont  —  perhaps  too  much  the  friends 
of  that  gentleman  to  be  over  friendly  ourselves.  But  I 
bear  you  no  ill-will,  and  trust  you  bear  none  to  me." 

"  Truly  I  do  not,"  replied  Michelle,  "  but  the  very 
highest  respect." 

She  had  then  reached  the  middle  of  the  room,  where  she 
made  another  deep  curtsey,  which  Bess  returned  with  a 
bow ;  and  at  the  door  Michelle  made  a  third  and  last 
one,  deeper  and  more  courteous  even  than  before,  and 
then  melted  away  into  the  shadows  of  the  evening,  that 
were  creeping  fast  into  the  room. 

Michelle  returned  to  the  dark  and  gloomy  building  of 
the  Scotch  Benedictine  nuns.  In  their  house,  where  she 
had  spent  so  many  happy  hours,  so  many  periods  of 
thought  and  study,  she  had  a  little  room,  as  bare  as  any 
nun's  cell  among  them.  To  it  she  had  come  directly  up- 
on her  return  from  Pont-a-Mousson.  Only  once  before 
had  she  left  it,  when  at  the  King's  command  she  had  gone 
to  Marly  to  tell  her  sad  story.  She  had  met  with  kind- 
ness —  Louis  the  Fourteenth  was  commonly  chivalrous 
to  women  —  and  she  had  returned  at  ease  in  her  mind 
respecting  how  she  had  performed  her  duty  at  Orla- 

470 


"Hugo  Stein  is  my  Enemy" 

munde.  Louis,  in  fact,  had  begun  to  think  his  two 
hundred  thousand  livres  a  year  very^  ill  laid  out  in 
buying  the  good-will  and  alliance  of  so  poor  a  creature 
as  Prince  Karl  of  Orlamunde,  and  was  rather  glad  to 
have  an  excuse  for  intermitting  it.  So  far,  no  soul,  ex- 
cept the  mother  superior  at  Pont-a-Mousson,  and  as 
Michelle  surmised,  the  Duke  of  Berwick,  knew  anything 
of  those  sweet,  those  evil  days  at  la  Riviere.  Not  even 
Madame  de  Beaumanoir  suspected  it,  and  Michelle 
felt  there  was  scarcely  a  chance  that  it  could  ever  be 
known.  But  her  conscience  ever  accused  her,  and  the 
accusation  brought  with  it  that  haunting  fear  of  dis- 
covery. She  felt  she  had  harmed  Roger  Egremont 
without  that,  and  if  that  were  known,  it  would  go  near 
to  ruin  him. 

She  went  to  her  little  room,  high  up  under  the  roof, 
when  she  returned  from  her  interview  with  Bess  Lukens, 
She  felt  shaken  and  agitated,  and  unequal  even  to  see- 
ing the  gentle  nuns.  And  shutting  her  door,  she  walked 
to  the  open  window,  through  which  she  could  see  all 
Paris  lying  below  her,  —  the  lights  showing  here  and 
there  like  golden  sparks  in  the  purple  dusk,  the  river 
winding  darkly  among  its  quays,  flowing,  flowing  softly 
through  the  busy  town  until  it  reached  the  fair  coun- 
try, flowing,  flowing  to  St.  Germains,  to  those  sweet 
meadows  where  first  she  had  seen  Roger  Egremont. 

Her  eye  at  this  moment  fell  upon  a  letter  lying  on 
the  floor  at  her  feet.  She  picked  it  up  with  trembling 
fingers.  Some  presentiment  of  evil  made  her  hold  it  in 
her  hand,  unread,  for  a  long  time  before  lighting  her 
candle.  It  had  a  perfume  she  hated,  —  a  strong,  coarse 
perfume,  used  by  the  Countess  Bertha.  Nothing  re- 
news associations  like  perfumes,  and  that  one,  so  pun- 
gent, so  overpowering,  brought  back  to  her  that  Palace 

471 


The  House  of  Egremont 

of  Little  Ease,  the  palace  of  Monplaisir,  with  all  its 
iniquities.  At  last  she  forced  herself  to  look  at  the 
letter  by  the  light  of  the  flickering  candle.  Yes,  she 
recognized  Prince  Karl's  slovenly,  illiterate  handwriting 
in  the  superscription.  She  did  not  ask  herself  how  it 
came  to  her ;  she  felt  sure  the  letter  would  tell  her,  as 
it  did.  It  was  brief.  Prince  Karl  was  as  inexpert  with 
the  pen  as  Roger  Egremont  was  expert. 

"I  wish  you  to  return  to  me,  —  not  that  I  care  if  I  never 
see  your  scornful  face  again,  but  your  absence  will  cost  me 
two  hundred  thousand  livres  a  year,  which  I  cannot  do  with- 
out. Bernstein  will  be  waiting  for  you  with  a  travelling- 
chaise  at  the  corner  of  the  street  at  daylight  on  the  morning 
after  you  receive  this  letter.  If  you  do  not  return  to  Orla- 
munde  with  him,  all  the  children  of  the  French  families 
at  Orlamunde  will  die  of  a  quick  and  mysterious  disease. 
I  have  promised  my  protection  to  these  French  people,  and 
so  have  quieted  their  fears;  but  if  you  refuse  to  come,  or 
betray  this  letter,  those  children  will  die.  You  know  I  al- 
ways keep  promises  of  this  sort.     So  come." 

One  afternoon  in  early  October,  the  little  inn  near 
Orlamunde  where  Michelle  had  stopped  two  days  before 
her  marriage  saw  her  again.  There  were  no  young  girls 
robed  in  white  to  receive  her ;  no  ladies-in-waiting  to 
attend  her;  no  state  coach  to  convey  her  to  her  hus- 
band. Only  Bernstein,  a  bad  man,  but  a  great  improve- 
ment on  his  master,  was  her  escort.  She  was  weary  and 
unfit  to  travel  farther,-  but  not  for  that  would  Bern- 
stein have  stopped.  The  horses  had  given  out,  and  a 
night's  rest  would  be  good  for  them.  So  the  wife  of  the 
reigning  Prince  of  Orlamunde,  although  of  less  account 
than  four  good  post-horses,  was  suffered,  for  the  sake  of 
those  four  good  post-horses,  to  have  a  few  hours  of  rest 

472 


"Hugo  Stein  is  my  Enemy'* 

before  again  experiencing  the  joys  of  that  noble  palace 
of  Monplaisir.  It  was  still  early  when  they  arrived, 
and  the  red  October  light  shone  upon  the  russet  coun- 
try, the  garden,  now  desolate,  and  the  little  wood  in 
which  Michelle  had  first  confessed  her  love  for  Roger 
Egremont. 

Yes,  she  knew  the  very  spot ;  for  there  had  her  steps 
been  drawn  against  her  will.  The  trees  were  quite 
bare,  and  the  dead,  dank  leaves  lay  all  about  her.  There 
was  the  stone  bench  on  which  Roger  had  sat  when  she 
told  him  that  she  was  going  to  be  married  the  next 
day  but  one.  He  was  a  stalwart  man,  but  she  remem- 
bered that  his  strength  had  seemed  to  fail  him  some- 
what, and  he  fell,  rather  than  seated  himself,  on  the 
bench.  She  sat  down  on  it  now  from  sheer  weakness, 
and  her  lovely,  miserable  eyes  looked  at  the  scene  she 
knew  so  well,  —  changed  from  spring  to  autumn,  but 
not  so  changed  as  she,  poor  unfortunate. 

She  had  never  been  strictly  beautiful,  and  three  weeks 
of  travel  toward  Monplaisir  had  done  its  work.  She 
looked  haggard  and  pale  beyond  description ;  and  her 
light  and  charming  walk,  as  graceful  as  the  swallow's 
flight,  was  no  more.  She  moved  slowly,  because  hope- 
lessly, and,  besides,  she  had  no  more  strength  left.  The 
going  back  to  Orlamunde  was  not  the  worst  of  what  she 
was  called  upon  to  endure.  Prince  Karl  and  the  Coun- 
tess Bertha  and  the  Marochetti  woman  —  these  were  bad, 
but  they  were  the  least  of  Michelle's  agonies.  What 
would  Roger  Egremont  think  of  her?  It  was  that  which 
had  brought  her  to  look  like  a  ghost ;  it  was  that  which 
had  made  sleep  and  food  well-nigh  impossible  to  her. 
He  could  not  have  a  great  opinion  of  her  after  la  Ri- 
vidre.  Although  she  had  of  herself  left  that  spot  of 
all  delight,  she  had  remained  long  enough  to  ruin  him 

473 


The  House  of  Egremont 

eternally  if  it  were  known  that  they  had  ever  been  there. 
There  were  not  in  the  world  many  women  more  miser- 
able than  the  Princess  Michelle  on  that  October  after- 
noon. 

Presently,  as  she  sat  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  she  heard  a  step  on  the  dry  leaves  close  to  her. 
She  started  violently.  The  strange  resemblance  which 
Bess  Lukens  had  divined  between  the  step  of  Roger 
Egremont  and  his  half-brother  flashed  through  her.  She 
raised  her  eyes  and  saw  Hugo  Stein  standing  before  her. 

He  was,  as  usual,  clean-shaven,  handsomely  dressed, 
and  debonair.  He  bowed  low  to  Michelle,  and  said,  with 
his  crafty  smile,  — 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  bid  your  Highness  welcome  to 
Orlamunde  once  more.  Prince  Karl  has  been  anxiously 
expecting  your  Highness.  So  has  the  Countess  Bertha 
von  Kohler.  So  have  I,  Sir  Hugo  Egremont,  ever  since 
my  return  from  England." 

Michelle  made  no  reply,  either  in  words  or  in  expres- 
sion. Truly  was  she  a  great  lady,  for  in  the  presence 
of  her  enemy  she  maintained  without  the  least  effort  a 
calmness,  a  coolness,  a  composure  that  robbed  that 
enemy  of  half  his  joy  in  insulting  her.  She  looked  at 
him  without  the  smallest  agitation.  He  might  have 
been  a  stock  or  a  stone  for  all  the  notice  she  took  of 
him. 

"  Yoru*  Highness  is  probably  surprised  to  see  me  at 
Orlamunde  again,  after  my  pointed  invitation  to  leave, 
by  the  Duke  of  Berwick  and  my  half-brother ;  and  with- 
out wishing  to  wound  your  Highness,  I  must  say  Prince 
Karl  did  not  back  me  up  as  he  should  considering  how 
much  money  I  had  paid  him  for  my  master,  King  Wil- 
liam, to  say  nothing  of  what  I  had  lost  to  him  at  cards. 
However,  I  only  went  away  that  I  might  return  again. 

474 


"Hugo  Stein  is  my  Enemy" 

I  went  to  England,  and  on  the  very  day  I  arrived  I  had 
the  satisfaction  of  denouncing  an  escaped  felon  and 
convict,  Richard  Egremont,  some  time  of  the  order  of 
the  Jesuits.  He  was  hanged,  as  he  should  have  been. 
Then,  on  explaining  my  affairs  to  the  Government,  I 
was  permitted  to  return  to  Orlamunde  with  more  power, 
more  money  than  before,  to  say  nothing  of  money  I 
brought  with  me  ;  for,  my  dear  lady,  to  be  without 
money  at  Monplaisir  is  like  standing  before  a  soup-pot 
without  a  spoon.  I  arrived  but  a  week  ago.  I  had  no 
trouble  in  explaining  to  his  Highness  that  there  had 
never  really  been  anything  between  your  Highness  and 
me,  and  that  what  I  said  was  simply  meant  to  pay  your 
Highness  off  as  well  as  my  half-brotherc  The  Prince  has 
kindly  forgotten  it  all,  and  he  has  won  over  a  thousand 
louis  d'or  from  me  since  I  came  back.  We  have  had  a 
glorious  week  of  play,  of  music,  of  intrigue,  of  cham- 
pagne. The  palace  is  just  the  same,  except  that  the 
Countess  Bertha  has  a  rival  in  a  couple  of  dancing  dogs, 
given  the  Prince  by  Madame  Marochetti.  'T  is  thought 
they  will  go  far  toward  restoring  Madame  Marochetti's 
empire." 

Still,  no  word,  no  sign  from  Michelle.  Not  the  slightest 
tinge  of  color  appeared  upon  her  pale  face,  nor  a  flash 
of  indignation  in  her  dark  eyes.  Hugo  Stein  was  more 
angry  with  her  for  her  composure  than  for  any  one  thing 
she  had  ever  done  in  her  life. 

He  had  been  standing  before  her,  but  he  then  seated 
himself  upon  the  bench  with  her,  in  the  very  spot  in 
which  Roger  had  sat. 

"  I  thought  your  Highness's  running  away  with  my 
half-brother  a  mistake,  a  great  mistake.  If  you  loved 
him,  you  could  have  kept  him  at  Orlamunde,  in  peace 
and  quiet.     No  one  would  have  objected." 

475 


The  House  of  Egremont 

What  was  this  ?  Michelle,  leaning  back  wearily,  put 
up  her  hand  as  she  yawned  slightly.  Hugo  Stein 
stopped  a  full  minute.  There  was  no  sound  except 
the  faint  movement  of  the  wind  among  the  fallen  leaves 
at  their  feet,  and  the  call  of  a  wood  pigeon,  lonely  and 
mateless. 

Then,  however,  the  silence  was  broken.  Down  the 
highroad  came  galloping  a  motley  crew,  the  dust  from 
their  horses'  hoofs  obscuring  the  October  sun,  their 
housings  and  trappings  and  clothes  and  swords  shining 
bravely.  They  were  singing  and  shouting  as  they  rode. 
Prince  Karl  at  their  head,  swaying  back  and  forth  as  he 
urged  his  horse  on,  striking  the  poor  beast  with  his 
sword  in  his  drunken  frenzy;  for  they  were  all  very 
drunk,  the  Countess  Bertha  and  Madame  Marochetti 
among  them.  As  Michelle  recognized  them  her  pale 
face  grew  paler,  and  she  looked  about  her  for  a  moment 
in  despaii',  like  a  hunted  creature  seeking  escape. 
Seeing  this,  Hugo  Stein  smiled. 

"  Yonder  is  his  Highness,  come  to  meet  your  High- 
ness," he  said.  "  He  will  be  pleased  at  the  attention 
I  have  shown  you  by  being  the  first  person  to  welcome 
you  to  Orlamunde." 

The  party  on  horseback  stopped  in  front  of  the  inn. 
Bernstein  ran  out  of  the  door  down  the  garden  path, 
and  helped  the  Prince  to  regain  his  balance  as  he 
tumbled  off  his  horse.  The  whole  party,  shouting  and 
singing,  and  headed  by  the  Prince,  whom  Bernstein 
held  up,  came  through  the  garden,  along  the  path  to  the 
little  wood  where  Michelle  sat.  None  of  the  Prince's 
companions,  men  or  women,  were  quite  sober.  The 
Countess  Bertha  was  able  to  dance  a  little  as  she  came 
along  the  path,  but  finding  it  hard  to  keep  her  equipoise, 
presently  stopped.     When  at  last  the  Prince  had  got 

476 


"Hugo  Stein  is  my  Enemy" 

within  a  few  feet  of  Michelle,  he  stopped  and  looked 
at  her  with  an  idiotic  smile.  His  hat  was  on  the 
back  of  his  head,  and  he  gesticulated  with  his  naked 
sword. 

"  Not  so  devilish  handsome  after  all,"  he  said.  "  Pale 
—  distrait  —  longing  perhaps  for  that  villain  of  an 
Egremont." 

His  eye  fell  upon  Hugo  Stein.  Some  connection  be- 
tween Roger  Egremont  and  Hugo  Stein,  some  confu- 
sion in  their  identities,  some  recollection  of  the  words 
that  Hugo  Stein  had  spoken  on  that  night  Michelle  had 
left  Orlamunde,  —  came  lumbering  through  his  drunken 
brain.  A  sudden  frenzy  shone  in  his  bloodshot  eyes. 
"  You  here  !  "  he  cried  to  Hugo  Stein.  They  had  been 
drinking  together  all  night  and  half  the  day ;  and  Hugo 
Stein,  following  his  life-long  practice,  had  remained 
sober  while  he  helped  to  make  the  others  drunk.  "  You 
here !  you  scoundrel !  You  are  my  wife's  lover,  —  jou 
said  so ! " 

His  maudlin  voice  rose  to  a  shout.  "You  said  so, 
and  denied  it  the  other  day  when  you  came  back  ;  but 
you  were  telling  the  truth  at  first !  And  my  honor  — 
my  honor  requires  —     Stand,  I  say !  " 

He  made  a  lunge  with  his  sword  at  Hugo  Stein,  who 
was  smiling  in  his  face.  It  was  a  blow  that  only  a 
drunkard  or  a  madman  could  have  delivered.  He  was 
no  swordsman  at  any  time ;  and  Hugo  Stein  was  reck- 
oned among  the  best  swordsmen  in  Europe,  —  with  the 
small  sword,  the  back  sword,  the  sabre,  and  the  rapier. 
But  that  blow  delivered  at  Hugo  Stein,  standing  with 
his  hand  on  his  own  sword,  went  home  to  his  heart.  He 
uttered  no  cry  as  the  blade  entered  his  breast,  breaking 
off  short,  while  the  handle  fell  to  the  ground. 

Bernstein  shrieked  and  caught  the  Prince  by  both 
477 


The  House  of  Egremont 

arms,   dragging  him  backward  as   he   shouted :    "  My 
honor  —  my  honor,  I  tell  you,  Bernstein  —  " 

Hugo  Stein  pulled  the  broken  blade  from  his  breast; 
he  knew  where  it  had  touched.  He  drew  his  own  sword, 
and,  with  his  heart's  blood  gushing  out  in  a  torrent, 
aimed  one  straight  blow  at  the  drunken  creature,  stag- 
gering and  screaming  in  Bernstein's  arms.  Hugo  Stein 
had  never  given  a  better  blow  than  this,  —  the  last  one 
he  was  ever  to  deliver.  It  brought  the  Prince  to  his 
knees.  Something  in  Prince  Karl's  face  told  Hugo 
Stein  that  his  sword  arm  had  not  lost  its  cunning  even 
in  death,  and  that  Prince  Karl  would  shortly  meet  him 
at  that  rendezvous  to  which  both  were  hastening.  He 
uttered  no  word,  —  all  his  strength  had  been  saved  for 
that  one  blow,  —  but  fell  upon  his  back  on  the  ground. 
No  hand  was  outstretched  to  receive  him  as  he  fell ; 
no  hand  staunched  his  life  blood  as  it  poured  from  his 
breast.  He  died  as  he  had  lived,  —  a  villain,  and  friend- 
less. And  close  by  lay  the  Most  High,  Most  Mighty, 
and  Most  Puissant  Prince  of  Orlamunde,  —  neither 
high,  nor  mighty,  nor  puissant  now;  but  only  the 
wretched  remnant  of  a  wicked  and  abominable  man, 
breathing  out  his  last  breath  in  crime  and  drunkenness. 
All  of  the  people  who  had  come  with  him  fled,  the 
women  shrieking  loudly.  Bernstein  alone  held  up  the 
Prince's  dying  head.  And  kneeling  on  the  ground  was 
Michelle,  —  some  overmastering  impulse  of  womanly 
pity  making  her  wipe  the  death-sweat  from  the  Prince's 
brow,  and  helping  to  lay  him  a  little  easier,  and  to 
whisper  to  him,  — 

"  I  forgive  you,  and  may  God  forgive  you." 
But  she  cast  not  so  much  as  a  look,  much  less  a 
prayer,  on  Hugo  Stein. 

478 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WHEREIN  IS  SET  FORTH  THE  CONCLUSION  OF  A  MAN 
WHO  ALWAYS  FEARED  GOD  AND  ALWAYS  TOOK  HIS 
OWN  PART 

IN  December,  1698,  Roger  Egremont's  regiment  was 
at  Meziferes,  —  then  a  gay  little  garrison  town. 
So  gay  was  it  that  Captain  Egremont,  being  in  mourn- 
ing for  his  cousin,  Father  Egremont,  lately  deceased, 
and  having  other  troubles  upon  his  mind,  preferred  to 
be  elsewhere.  Therefore,  through  his  friend,  Lieuten- 
ant-General  the  Duke  of  Berwick,  Roger  succeeded  in 
having  himself  ordered  upon  duty  connected  with  the 
making  of  military  maps  in  a  remote  part  of  the  Vosges. 
This  took  him  to  the  very  kind  of  place  he  wished  to 
be  in,  —  a  village  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains,  where 
the  people  were  simple  and  primitive  to  the  last  degree, 
and  where,  except  Roger  and  the  village  priest,  no  one 
could  read  or  write.  Here,  in  the  best  room  of  a  peas- 
ant's cottage,  lived  the  head  of  the  house  of  Egremont. 
He  had  a  soldier  for  a  servant,  and  a  sergeant  and  half 
a  dozen  more  soldiers  to  help  him  in  his  work.  It  was 
light  enough  work,  —  Roger  Egremont  often  did  not 
see  his  sergeant  or  the  soldiers  for  days  and  even  weeks 
at  a  time,  —  military  affairs  being  very  quiet.  Europe 
was  taking  a  breathing  spell  after  ten  consecutive  cam- 
paigns, the  loss  of  eight  hundred  thousand  men  killed 
and  disabled,  the  desolation  of  vast  tracts  of  country, 
and  the  making  of  multitudes  of  widows  and  orphans, 

479 


The  House  of  Egremont 

—  and   affairs   stood  very  much  where  they  were  ten 
years  before. 

Those  ten  years,  however,  had  made  the  greatest 
epoch  in  Roger  Egremont's  life,  and  he  too  wanted  a 
breathing  spell.  Fate  had  dealt  him  many  staggering 
blows  during  his  thirty-two  years  of  life ;  the  two  heaviest, 
however,  were  the  loss  of  his  dear  little  Dicky,  and  the 
loss  of  his  honor,  as  he  conceived  it,  by  his  breach  of 
trust  with  regard  to  the  woman  he  most  loved  and  the 
man  he  most  respected  of  any  in  the  world.  He  had 
made  a  clean  breast  to  Berwick,  but  in  as  few  words  as 
possible,  —  he  loved  not  to  dwell  upon  his  own  iniquity. 
And  Berwick,  without  preaching,  and  without  exacting 
that  Roger  should  be  forever  crying  mea  culpa,  had 
conveyed  to  him  that  his  sin  was  pardonable.  But 
Roger  Egremont  could  not  forgive  himself;  and  he 
reasoned,  truly  enough,  that  if  Michelle  had  been  the 
woman  Berwick  loved,  Berwick  could  not  have  for- 
given any  man,  not  even  himself,  for  any  jeopardj'^  to 
her.  Roger  had  called  himself  a  miserable  sinner,  night 
and  morning  in  his  brief  prayers,  ever  since  he  could 
remember,  without  considering  himself  a  sinner  at  all ; 
but  now  he  judged  himself  with  a  just  judgment,  and 
saw  that  he  had  indeed  been  a  very  miserable  sinner. 
And  this  gave  him  a  different  outlook  upon  humanity 
than  he  had  ever  before  known.  He  had  time  and 
opportunity  for  introspection.  The  winter  was  un- 
usually severe,  and  tremendous  snows  fell  early  in 
December,  thus  cutting  off  communication  with  the 
South  for  many  weeks.  Roger  had,  for  company,  a  few 
books,  given  him  by  Berwick  at  parting,  —  a  Thomas 
h  Kempis,  some  military  text-books,  and  a  History  of 
Fraace.  Berwick's  reading  was  not  in  the  way  of  poets 
and  romancers,  although  Roger  knew  him  to  be  a  man 

480 


Conclusion 

of  the  deepest  and  truest  feeling,  —  he  could  not  yet 
bring  himself  to  speak  of  the  young  wife  so  lately  torn 
from  him.  Roger's  reading  had  always  lain  very  much 
in  the  way  of  romance,  and  that  wicked  fellow  Moli^re 
had  been  as  much  his  companion  as  his  old  friend 
and  fellow-countryman.  Will  Shakespeare,  —  and  Pierre 
Ronsard  had  been  closer  to  him  than  either.  But  he 
had  none  of  these  three  worthies  to  keep  him  company 
in  the  Vosges.  The  library  of  the  village  priest  con- 
sisted of  eleven  books,  five  of  them  volumes  of  ser- 
mons. Roger  thought  he  had  got  well  out  of  the  good 
priest's  eager  offer  of  his  books,  by  accepting  a  volume  of 
Bossuet's  sermons,  —  he  remembered  that  Michelle  had 
liked  them.  He  read  them  at  first  as  a  man  reads  from 
sheer  desperation,  but  soon  became  interested,  and  con- 
cluded that  the  Bishop  of  Meaux  knew  much  more  of 
the  world,  as  well  as  of  God  and  the  human  heart,  than  he, 
Roger  Egremont,  did.  His  days  were  passed  in  tramp- 
ing over  the  mountains  in  the  snow,  getting  such  infor- 
mation as  he  was  desired  to  get,  and  drawing  maps.  In 
the  evening  he  had  a  huge  fire  made  in  his  one  poor 
room,  where  a  single  tallow  candle  served  as  a  chande- 
lier, and  by  it  he  read  and  studied.  He  should  have 
gone  to  bed  early  every  night,  yet  it  was  sometimes 
midnight  before  he  stretched  himself  upon  his  hard 
pallet,  wrapped  in  his  military  roquelaure,  to  keep  out 
the  piercing  cold.  In  those  solitary  hours  over  his  fire 
he  reviewed  his  whole  life,  —  all  life,  —  and  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  Michelle  was  right  in  almost  those 
first  words  she  ever  spoke  to  him,  —  that  work,  pain, 
and  death  were  the  three  great  true  things.  He  began 
to  perceive  dimly,  though,  that  by  the  manner  in  which 
the  soul  meets  work,  pain,  and  death,  must  its  happiness 
be  decided.  Dicky  Egremont  had  known  work  and 
31  481 


The  House  of  Egremont 

death,  and  what  the  world  calls  pain,  —  but  Roger 
doubted  if  Dicky  had  ever  suffered  a  moment's  real 
pain  on  his  own  account  in  all  his  short  life. 

As  for  himself,  Roger  perceived  that  work  was  a 
blessing  and  not  a  curse,  and  began  to  think  that  Fate 
had  given  him  some  good  schooling.  If  ever  he  came 
into  his  own,  he  would  know  more  of  the  wants  of  the 
humbler  people  than  any  Egremont  who  ever  lived.  For 
he  had  known  what  it  was  to  want  money,  to  wear  a 
shabby  coat,  to  ride  a  sorry  horse,  —  all  valuable  experi- 
ences to  a  gentleman  of  Captain  Roger  Egremont's 
naturally  haughty  and  somewhat  reckless  temper. 
But  Michelle  —  ah,  then  he  writhed  in  his  chair  before 
the  fire,  and  had  no  more  ease  of  mind.  What  of  her  ? 
Not  one  word  had  he  heard,  not  one  line  had  he  written 
her.  He  dared  not ;  he  knew  not  what  to  say.  He 
longed  that  she  should  know  that  he  had  recovered  his 
manhood,  and  came  to  the  old  chateau  that  June  morn- 
ing determined  to  go  to  Pont-a-Mousson  that  very  day, 
only,  womanlike,  her  conscience  had  waked  first,  and 
she  had  not  spent  the  whole  night  fighting  the  right, 
but  had  straightway  risen  and  taken  the  path  of  duty. 
It  was  only  a  little  over  six  months  since  those  days 
at  la  Riviere  —  it  seemed  at  least  a  century  off.  And 
while  Roger  would  be  trying  to  drive  off  these 
thoughts  of  her,  which  tortured  him,  all  at  once  the 
squalid  place  would  become  the  little  octagon  room  on 
the  bridge  at  la  Riviere,  the  icy  wind  howling  overhead 
the  sweet  breezes  of  the  springtime,  the  delicious  odor 
of  the  asphodel  and  narcissus  would  fill  the  air,  turning 
presently  to  the  rich  fragrance  of  the  roses  and  the 
lilies ;  he  would  feel  upon  his  face  and  neck  the  light 
and  wandering  touch  of  Michelle's  soft  hair,  as  on  that 
last,  last  evening  —  and  Roger  Egremont,  the  veteran  of 

482 


Conclusion 

five  campaigns  in  the  Low  Countries,  would  feel  himself 
conquered  and  overborne  by  these  poignant  recollections, 
and  would  throw  himself  on  his  rude  bed,  and  cover 
his  face  with  his  cloak,  as  if  to  shut  out  that  vision  of 
too  great  pain  and  sweetness.  And  he  knew,  by  a  kind 
of  clairvoyance,  that  Michelle  was  thinking  these  same 
thoughts  of  him.  He  knew,  without  being  told,  that 
she  was  leading  a  life  of  piety  and  seclusion ;  he  had 
not  seen  her  daily,  and  had  her  mind  and  heart  laid  like 
an  open  book  before  his  eyes  for  many  weeks,  without 
reading  what  was  writ  therein.  He  sometimes  won- 
dered if  they  would  meet  again,  but  of  one  thing  he 
was  as  certain  as  he  was  that  he  was  a  living  man,  they 
would  never  meet  unless  Michelle  were  free.  He  no 
more  desired  it  than  she ;  they  both  knew  by  sharp  ex- 
perience that  it  was  impossible  —  not  to  be  thought  of. 

The  winter  was  passing;  it  was  now  the  middle  of 
February,  and  a  thaw  set  in.  For  the  first  time  since 
Roger  had  come  to  that  lonely  mountain  place,  it  was 
possible  to  hear  from  the  outside  world.  One  day  he 
got  his  first  letter  for  three  months.  It  was  from  Ber- 
wick, and  was  brief. 

"Go  to  Mezieres  at  once,  where  you  will  find  it  ar- 
ranged that  you  have  leave  indefinitely,  and  lose  no  time  in 
coming  to  St.  Germains.  There  is  matter  of  importance 
for  you  here.  I  will  not  write  the  details,  as  I  shall 
see  you  so  soon.  It  is  a  time  when  you  must  advance 
the  motto  of  your  family  —  '  Fear  God,  and  take  your  own 
part.'     Farewell." 

Roger  glanced  at  the  date.  It  was  early  in  the  pre- 
vious November. 

He  lost  not  a  moment  in  making  his  few  prepara- 
tions to  start,  and  had  not  an  hour  for  speculation  until 

483 


The  House  of  Egremont 

he  found  himself  on  the  back  of  his  good  Merrylegs  the 
third,  pushing  through  the  mountain  passes  on  his  way 
to  M^ziferes.  What  individual  good  could  come  to  him, 
Roger  Egremont,  that  Berwick  should  send  for  him  in 
such  terms  ?  None  at  all.  It  must  be  some  public 
matter.  His  old  enemy,  William  of  Orange,  was  near 
his  end,  perhaps,  —  Roger  devoutly  hoped  he  was,  —  or 
there  was  a  great  uprising  on  foot  in  those  isles  so 
dear  to  him.  He  rather  expected  when  he  got  to  St. 
Germains  to  find  the  fieur  de  lys  of  France  floating 
over  the  old  palace,  instead  of  the  royal  standard  of 
the  Stuarts.  Travelling  was  still  difficult,  guides  were 
necessary,  and  he  made  but  slow  progress,  even  after 
leaving  M^ziferes,  until  he  reached  the  champagne  coun- 
try. Then  Merrylegs  was  put  to  it  to  show  what  stuff 
he  was  made  of.  At  every  stage  of  the  journey  Roger 
inquired  eagerly  of  the  public  news ;  there  was  none. 

His  hopes  of  a  Jacobite  rising  grew  fainter,  and  when 
he  reached  Paris  they  faded  altogether.  His  unfortunate 
Majesty  James  the  Second  still  inhabited  the  chateau  of 
St.  Germains,  with  no  prospect  of  leaving  it.  It  was 
then  and  there  only  forced  upon  Roger  Egremont  that 
there  must  be  some  individual  good-fortune  waiting 
upon  him  at  St.  Germains. 

He  stopped  not  an  hour  in  Paris,  but  he  lost  an  hour 
by  making  a  detour  so  that  he  would  pass  by  that 
large,  gloomy  house  of  the  Scotch  Benedictines,  —  a  sad 
enough  place,  except  for  the  high-walled  garden  at  the 
south,  on  which  he  could  see  the  tops  of  cedars  and  the 
branches  of  tall  lilacs  and  guelder-roses,  with  some  deli- 
cate promise  of  leaves  upon  them.  He  knew  that 
Michelle  loved  that  place  ;  he  knew  that  she  was  most 
likely  to  be  there  of  any  spot  on  earth.  He  walked  his 
horse  past   the  house,  and  along  the  south  wall,  and 

484 


Conclusion 

searched  it  all  to  find  some  sign  of  the  woman  he  loved, 
but  saw  none.  He  wondered,  should  Michelle  be  there, 
would  she  not  feel  his  presence  ?  He  felt  that  if  she 
walked  over  his  grave  he  would  know  it. 

On  that  wide,  paved,  gay  road,  enlivened  with  much 
company,  between  Paris  and  St.  Germains,  he  had  lei- 
sure to  speculate  on  what  good  news  was  waiting  him. 
It  was  good,  but  Berwick  could  not  dispose  of  life  or 
death,  and  unless  Michelle  were  free  — 

It  was  dusk  in  the  spring  afternoon  before  the  ter- 
race and  the  old  palace  came  in  sight.  Roger  rode 
straight  for  the  palace.  As  he  clattered  up  to  the  old 
gateway,  he  saw  a  cavalcade  before  him.  Poor  King 
James,  old  and  feeble,  still  rode  gallantly  to  hounds 
three  times  a  week,  scorning  the  calash  in  which  his 
brother  of  France  would  have  driven  him.  He  had  just 
returned  from  one  of  his  hunting  parties.  Berwick  was 
with  him.  The  Queen  and  the  little  Prince  of  Wales 
and  the  little  Princess,  "  La  Consolatrice,"  were  await- 
ing the  King  at  the  gateway.  Roger  Egremont,  riding 
up,  dismounted,  and  falling  on  his  knee  in  the  muddy 
street,  kissed  the  hands  of  his  unfortunate  master,  and 
then  paid  his  respects  to  the  Queen  and  her  two  fair 
children. 

Berwick,  who  had  dismounted  to  hold  the  King's  stir- 
rup, turned  to  Roger  and  embraced  him. 

"  I  had  your  letter  just  nine  days  ago,"  said  Roger  in 
Berwick's  ear. 

"Then  you  know  nothing  of  what  has  happened?" 

."  Nothing." 

"  Mr.  Egremont,"  said  the  King,  "  I  wish  to  see  you 
alone  for  a  few  moments,"  and  walked  ahead.  Roger 
Egremont  followed  him  up  the  well-known  stair,  along 
those  familiar  saloons,  —  ah,  how  they  spoke  of  Michelle ! 

485 


The  House  of  Egremont 

—  into  the  royal  closet     And  the  King,  turning  to  him, 
said  gently,  — 

"  I  wish  to  give  you  at  once  my  reasons  for  wishing 
you  to  go  to  England  and  claim  your  estate,  now  that 
your  half-brother  is  dead.  I  presume  you  have  just  ar- 
rived, although  we  have  been  expecting  you  any  day  for 
three  months  past." 

His  half-brother  dead.  Roger  felt  a  little  unsteady  on 
his  legs  for  a  moment. 

"I  —  I  —  your  Majesty  —  I  did  not  know  —  I  had 
not  heard,"  Roger  stammered,  and  then  hesitated,  quiv- 
ering all  over  with  the  suddenness  of  it. 

"You  did  not  know  of  Hugo  Stein's  death?  The 
Duke  of  Berwick  will  give  you  the  particulars.  You 
will  understand,  of  course,  that  you  are  now  the  heir-at- 
law  if  your  half-brother's  contention  was  right,  —  which 
no  one  believes,  —  that  your  father  and  Madame  Stein 
were  married.  And  if,  as  you  have  steadily  maintained, 
your  half-brother  was  a  bastard,  there  is  no  one  to  dis- 
pute your  claim,  unless  the  Prince  of  Orange  should. 
And  I  think  there  is  little  danger  of  that.  He  is  an 
astute  man,  is  my  usurping  son-in-law  and  nephew,  and 
he  dare  not  raise  any  further  issue  with  the  Egremonts. 
He  has  ceased  forcing  the  oaths  upon  gentlemen  certain 
to  refuse  them ;  so  go  you  to  England  and  claim  your 
own,  as  soon  as  you  like." 

"  But,  sir,"  asked  Roger,  recovering  himself  a  little, 
"can  I  do  that,  and  still  hold  my  allegiance  to  your 
Majesty  and  my  Prince  ?  For,  be  your  Majesty  assured 
that,  though  I  love  my  estates  as  much  as  it  lies  in  a  man, 
I  love  my  honor  more,  and  will  not  take  my  own  unless 
I  can  take  it  with  a  clean  mind  and  an  upright  soul." 

A  wan  smile  came  over  James  Stuart's  wrinkled  face. 
A  poor  broken  king  loves  loyalty. 

486 


Conclusion 

"  Truly,  Mr.  Egremont,  you  speak  as  becomes  a  man. 
But  know  you,  the  greatest  favor  you  can  do  me  is  to 
go  over  to  England  and  maintain  your  estate  and  dig- 
nity. There  is  no  more  to  be  done  for  me.  To  that 
have  I  been  forced  to  agree.  But  when  the  time  comes 
that  a  blow  must  be  struck  for  my  son,  every  gentleman 
of  condition  who  is  on  the  spot"  to  help  him,  is  worth  ten 
men  elsewhere.  So  shall  I  give  you  a  writing,  saying 
you  go  to  England  at  my  command.  Nobody  will  ever 
take  you  for  a  Whig." 

"  I  trust  not,  sir,"  was  Roger  Egremont's  answer ;  and 
being  then  excused,  he  backed  out  of  the  King's  pres- 
ence ;  but  once  outside,  he  ran  as  fast  as  his  legs  could 
carry  him  to  catch  Berwick,  whom  he  saw  through  a 
window  walking  toward  the  terrace,  in  the  misty  light 
of  a  spring  evening. 

Berwick  paused  when  he  saw  Roger  coming.  The 
terrace  was  quite  deserted  then,  and  the  night  was  fall- 
ing softly.  There  was  still  an  opal  sky  in  the  west,  and 
below  them,  in  the  meadows,  the  kine  were  going  home 
with  tinkling  bells  echoing  sweetly  over  the  quiet  fields 
and  vineyards. 

"So  you  know  the  news  about  Egremont?"  said  Ber- 
wick, smiling. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Roger,  and  spoke  no  more,  as  he  walked 
along  by  Berwick's  side.  They  were  on  the  terrace  then. 
A  few  persons  were  strolling  about  or  sitting  upon  the 
benches  at  the  parapet,  but  it  was  very  quiet,  with  the 
strange  stillness  of  twilight. 

Roger  heard  Berwick's  grave,  musical  voice,  but  he 
heeded  it  not.  His  body  was  at  St.  Germains,  but  his 
heart  was  at  Egremont.  Echoing  in  his  ears  was  the 
sound  of  the  little  river  at  the  Dark  Pool,  the  larks  as 
they  sang  in  the  park  in  the  morning  and  the  nightin- 

487 


The  House  of  Egremont 

gales  at  evening,  and  the  calling  of  the  dun  deer,  one  to 
another,  in  the  green  heart  of  the  woods. 

"  You  are  dreaming,  man  I "  cried  Berwick ;  and 
Roger,  coming  out  of  a  veritable  dream,  looked  about 
him  like  a  man  newly  awakened, 

"And  how  did  mj  half-brother  die?  —  God  forgive 
him,"  asked  Roger;  and  suddenly  a  passionate  sense 
of  the  wrongs  the  dead  man  had  done  him  rushed  over 
him, 

"  No,"  he  almost  shouted,  his  clear  voice  resounding 
through  the  evening  stillness  and  startling  the  nesting 
birds  in  the  trees,  "  surely  God  will  never  forgive  Hugo 
Stein,  And  it  maddens  me  to  think  he  should  have 
gone  out  of  the  world  with  my  three  debts  to  him  unpaid. 
One  was,  for  robbing  me  of  my  estate ;  another  was,  for 
murdering  my  cousin ;  and  the  third  and  worst  was,  for 
slandering  an  innocent  lady." 

Berwick  said  no  word.  Roger's  dark  face  was  flushed, 
and  he  breathed  heavily,  clenching  and  unclenching  his 
fists  as  he  walked. 

They  had  now  come  to  the  great  green  semicircular 
alcove  on  the  terrace.  There  was  not  a  soul  in  that 
retired  spot.  Not  even  the  great  golden  moon,  rising 
behind  the  trees,  lighted  up  that  solitary  place, 

"  Hugo  Stein  was  killed  in  a  drunken  frenzy  by  the 
Prince  of  Orlamunde,"  said  Berwick,  quietly, 

Roger  stopped  still  as  if  the  name  of  Orlamunde  gave 
him  a  shock.  Berwick  continued  in  the  same  quiet 
voice,  but  he  looked  away  from  Roger  as  he  spoke,  and 
they  both  moved  about  a  little. 

"  Yes,  the  Prince  of  Orlamunde,  the  poorest  swords- 
man in  Europe,  killed  Hugo  Stein,  a  master  in  the  art, 
by  a  single  blow,  such  as  one  seldom  sees  in  a  lifetime. 
And  the  Prince  paid  for  his  skill  with  his  life.     Hugo 

488 


Conclusion 

Stein,  dying,  ran  him  through  the  body.  Hugo  Stein 
was  in  no  drunken  frenzy.  Though  with  a  mortal 
wound,  his  hand  was  steady  to  deal  one  last  blow  to  his 
enemy.     Never  were  two  villains  better  served." 

Roger  Egremont  again  stood  still  and  walked  on  and 
stood  still,  like  a  man  in  a  dream.  Truly  was  he  in  a 
dream.  He  had  but  grasped  the  idea  that  Egremont 
was  his  once  more,  when  he  found  —  he  found  — 
Michelle  was  free !  That  was  all ;  but  it  was  enough 
to  make  him  feel  as  a  mortal  does  when  first  rapt  into 
Paradise.  He  saw  himself  again  at  Egremont,  and, 
vision  bright  and  fair,  Michelle  was  beside  him.  It  was 
so  dazzling,  so  bewildering,  that  he  put  his  hand  before 
his  eyes  as  if  to  shield  himself  from  the  splendor  of  his 
dream. 

Again  he  heard  Berwick's  voice. 

"  There  were  strange  circumstances  before  the  killing. 
The  Prince  could  not  do  without  the  Princess's  dowry, 
and  finding  she  was  in  the  house  of  the  Scotch  Benedic- 
tines, contrived  a  letter  to  her  by  Bernstein.  In  it  he 
told  her  if  she  did  not  return  to  him,  all  the  children  in 
the  French  families  at  Orlamunde  should  die  of  a  quick 
disease.  He  was  quite  capable  of  it.  The  Princess 
returned  with  Bernstein." 

Something  in  Roger's  face  made  Berwick  continue 
rather  quickly,  — 

"  She  got  no  farther  than  the  little  inn  you  remem- 
ber, near  Orlamunde.  There  Hugo  Stein  had  the  vil- 
lany  to  meet  her.  He  had  been  to  England,  had  sworn 
away  your  cousin  Richard  Egremont's  life,  and  re- 
turned to  Orlamunde.  He  had  enough  money  to  lose 
at  play,  to  win  back  the  Prince's  favor,  and  meant  to 
give  the  Princess  the  pleasure  of  his  company  on  her 
return  —  the  scoundrel !     Then,  as  he  was  heaping  in- 

469 


The  House  of  Egremont 

suits  upon  her  at  the  inn,  up  comes  the  Prince  with 
his  crew  of  miscreants,  men  and  women,  the  Prince 
very  drunk.  And  in  some  way  —  I  know  not  how  — 
there  were  words,  and  in  ten  minutes  Hugo  Stein  and 
Prince  Karl  lay  dead,  each  at  the  hand  of  the  other." 

Berwick  paused.  He  saw  that  Roger  required  time 
to  take  in  all  he  was  hearing.  After  a  while  Berwick 
went  on. 

"  The  Prince's  successor  —  Prince  Heinrich  —  a  very 
different  and  a  veiy  worthy  man,  was  at  Orlamunde. 
The  matter  was  hushed  up  as  far  as  possible,  and  the 
decencies  observed.  The  first  thing  Prince  Heinrich 
did  was  to  clear  the  palace  and  the  schloss  of  the  dis- 
reputable gang  which  Prince  Karl  had  established  there, 
and  he  at  once  installed  the  Princess  Michelle  at  the 
schloss.  She  remained  there,  receiving  every  attention 
at  the  hands  of  Prince  Heinrich,  until  after  the  funeral. 
Then  she  returned  to  France  in  a  manner  becoming  her 
rank  and  station.  She  went  directly  to  the  house  of  the 
Scotch  Benedictines,  and  is  there  now  in  the  strictest 
retirement." 

Yes,  he  knew  it.  He  had  known  she  would  go 
there ;  he  had  even  felt  her  presence  there  as  he  passed 
by  the  house. 

The  moon  was  high  in  the  heavens  now.  Roger  found 
himself  alone  on  the  terrace ;  he  did  not  know  when  and 
how  Berwick  had  left  him.  His  footsteps  took  him 
down  the  steep  hillside  into  the  silent  meadows  along 
the  river,  black  and  silver  in  the  moonlight,  to  the  very 
spot  where  he  had  first  seen  Michelle.  Yes,  there  it  was 
that  he  had  first  known  the  melting  softness  of  her  black 
eyes,  first  heard  the  thrilling  music  of  her  voice.  There 
she  had  told  him  that  work,  pain,  death,  lay  before  all  ; 
it  was  almost  the  first  word  she  had  spoken  to  him,  and  it 

490 


Conclusion 

had  made  him  to  think  and  made  him  to  feel.  But  work, 
pain,  and  death,  with  love  at  hand,  these  made  up  the  sum 
of  perfect  life.  Work  was  easy ;  pain  could  be  endured 
with  joy,  —  he  remembered  the  thorn  that  pressed  into  his 
hand  and  hers  at  la  Riviere  ;  and  death  could  be  met  with 
courage,  if  only  love  stood  beside  him,  not  only  love  for 
Michelle,  but  love  for  all  of  God's  creatures  and  love  of 
God's  righteousness.  This  thought  soothed  the  fever  in 
his  soul ;  he  was  in  danger  of  losing  himself  totally  in 
the  intoxication  and  the  vainglory  which  had  begun  to 
possess  him.  He  looked  up  at  the  star-sown  vault  of 
heaven.  The  stars  had  never  seemed  to  him  cold, 
unseeing,  distant.  They  had  ever  been  to  him  near, 
watchful,  and  palpitating.  Their  silent  voices,  eloquent 
through  all  the  aeons  of  time,  rebuked  his  pride  and 
composed  his  joy.  There  would  still  be  work,  pain, 
and  death,  and  also  infinite  joy,  but  from  those  silent 
stars  he  humbly  learned  how  to  meet  them  all. 

The  first  note  of  time  he  realized  was  the  chiming  of 
midnight.  He  roused  himself,  as  it  were ;  he  was  then 
again  on  the  terrace.  The  moon  shone  brightly  upon  the 
river,  and  it  seemed  to  Roger  Egremont  as  if  that  silver 
shining  on  the  water  made  a  radiant  path  of  glory  to 
the  heavens.  All  vast,  all  bright,  all  joyous,  all  noble 
thoughts  were  his,  and  they  humbled  him,  and  cast  him 
down  upon  his  knees  to  ask  God  to  forgive  him  past 
iniquities  and  to  keep  him  from  committing  them  again. 
And  his  spirit,  coming  down  from  those  supernal  heights, 
where  the  mere  human  soul  cannot  walk  for  long,  was 
lost  in  simple  human  happiness  and  thankfulness. 

Roger  Egremont  walked  back  to  the  old  chateau. 
He  had  no  place  provided  to  sleep.  It  was  no  matter  ; 
he  could  have  slept  out-of-doors.  He  had  spent  many 
nights  with  the  sky  for  a  roof  and  the  earth  for  a  bed, 

491 


The  House  of  Egremont 

but  they  were  generally  very  miserable  nights ;  this 
one  happy  one  would  be  a  change.  The  sentry,  how- 
ever, at  the  gateway,  recognized  him  and  passed  him 
through,  Roger  giving  him  a  crown  ;  when  the  soldier, 
after  a  little  parley,  let  him  pass.  Roger  went  into  the 
guard-room  on  the  left,  where  other  men  were  sleeping, 
and  wrapping  himself  in  his  cloak,  with  a  log  of  wood 
from  the  fireplace  for  a  pillow,  fell  into  the  very  sweetest 
sleep  he  had  ever  known  in  his  life. 

Next  morning  Berwick  told  him  it  was  the  King's 
wish  that  he  should  start  at  once  for  England. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  keep  me,"  said  Roger.  "  I  de- 
sire to  leave  a  message  with  you  to  the  Princess  Michelle, 
which  I  beg  you  will  deliver  this  day.  It  is  that  I  will 
not  intrude  myself  upon  her  in  any  way  during  the  year 
of  her  widowhood  ;  but  one  year  from  to-day  I  shall  be 
wherever  she  is,  and  if  she  will  see  me  on  that  day  I 
shall  esteem  it  the  greatest  happiness  and  privilege  of 
my  life." 

"  I  will  deliver  it  to  the  Princess  this  day,"  replied 
Berwick. 

And  then,  like  a  douche  of  ice-cold  water  came  the 
thought  to  Roger  Egremont,  — he  must  see  Bess  Lukens. 
Never  had  the  thought  of  seeing  her  been  so  painful 
to  him,  for  some  inexplicable  reason.  But  it  was  his 
duty,  —  tenfold  his  duty  after  her  noble  service  to 
Dicky. 

Roger  was  rather  pleased  to  acquiesce  in  the  King's 
wish  that  he  should  leave  at  once  for  England.  He 
would  make  no  stop  but  for  a  brief  visit  in  Paris  to 
his  friend  Bess  Lukens,  —  so  he  told  the  King,  —  and 
secretly  and  basely  hoped  Bess  would  not  be  at  home. 

He  rode  to  the  tall  old  house,  and  found  not  only  that 
Bess  was  absent  for  the  day,  but  even  the   two   old 

492 


Conclusion 

Mazets.  Roger  felt  a  great  load  lifted  from  him.  He 
scratched  a  few  lines  on  a  leaf  torn  from  his  note-book. 
In  them  he  told  Bess  that  in  a  year  he  should  return, 
and  meanwhile  that  she  must  write  to  him  and  tell  him 
all  that  concerned  her ;  and  he  was  then  and  always  her 
loving  friend.  He  made  time  to  ride  by  the  house  of 
the  Scotch  Benedictines,  and  even  tried  to  persuade 
himself  that  he  caught  a  glimpse,  over  the  wall,  of  a 
graceful  figure  that  he  knew  so  well ;  and  then,  lifting 
his  hat  from  his  head  as  he  passed  the  house,  spurred  on 
to  take  the  road  to  Calais  —  to  England  —  to  Egremont. 

On  a  Sunday  morning  in  March,  Roger  Egremont 
found  himself  once  more  at  the  edge  of  the  village  of 
Egremont.  The  village  people  had  known  for  some 
months  of  Hugo  Stein's  death,  and  with  that  sturdy  be- 
lief in  Roger's  ultimate  return  which  they  had  ever 
cherished,  they  were  looking  daily  for  him.  And  on 
that  Sunday  morning  Hodge,  the  shoemaker,  leaning 
over  his  gate,  observed  a  traveller  approaching ;  and 
seeing  that  it  was  Roger,  the  shoemaker  set  up  a 
great  shout,  that  brought  the  whole  village  into  the 
street. 

Yes,  it  was  Roger !  Changed,  it  is  true,  —  a  bronzed 
soldier,  his  complexion  darkened,  his  face  softened,  for 
he  was  a  softer-hearted  and  a  softer-spoken  man  than 
he  had  been  in  the  old  days  when  he  lived  more  with 
trees  and  grass  and  fish  and  birds  and  beasts  than 
with  men,  —  but  still  Roger,  a  true  Egremont  and  no 
bastard.  And  he  was  on  the  ground  then,  shaking 
hands  with  the  men,  bowing,  hat  in  hand,  to  the  women, 
and  pointing  to  his  horse,  crying,  — 

"  Where  is  Diccon,  who  gave  me  Merrylegs  ?  I  owe 
him  fifty  pounds  for  that  horse  ;  and  though  the  poor 

493 


The  House  of  Egremont 

beast  is  long  since  dead,  I  have  ever  since  owned  a 
horse  named  Merrylegs,  in  his  honor." 

Diccon  came  forward,  grinning  with  delight,  to  shake 
hands  with  "  the  master." 

"  And  I  have  heard  of  all  you  did  for  my  cousin, 
Richard  Egremont,  —  the  noblest,  sweetest  soul,  —  and 
I  thank  every  one  of  you  who  did  him  a  service.  For 
those  who  helped  to  lay  him  in  the  soil  of  Egremont, 
and  especially  for  those  who  helped  Bess  Lukens  to  pun- 
ish Hugo  Stein  for  his  share  in  that  murder,  you  shall 
have  my  thanks  and  ten  golden  sovereigns.  And  to- 
night, for  the  first  time  since  I  saw  you  last,  will  I  sleep 
without  a  bag  of  earth  from  Egremont  under  my  head, 
for  now  I  shall  sleep  at  Egremont  itself." 

The  Egremonts  had  always  been  famed  for  their 
power  to  charm  the  humble  people,  and  no  Egremont 
who  ever  lived  had  more  this  charm  than  Roger.  He 
was  not  grossly  familiar  with  them,  but  kindly  with  the 
men  and  gracefully  respectful  to  the  women.  In  the 
midst  of  the  handshaking  and  bowing.  Dame  Hodge 
elbowed  her  way  through  the  crowd. 

"Master  Roger,"  she  cried,  "thou  didst  take  from 
me  thy  last  breakfast  at  Egremont,  and  now  thou  shalt 
take  thy  first  after  thy  return  under  my  roof." 

"  Sure  shall  I,  good  dame,"  replied  Roger,  smiling. 
His  eyes  were  sparkling,  his  face  glowing,  —  he  had 
grown  ten  years  younger  in  half  an  hour. 

And  then,  just  as  it  had  been  seven  years  before,  he 
sat  and  ate  of  Dame  Hodge's  homely  fare,  in  full  view 
of  the  delighted  villagers  and  tenantry  collected  from 
all  over  the  estate ;  and  afterward,  coming  to  the  door  as 
he  had  done  on  that  June  morning  so  long  past,  he 
lifted  his  tankard  of  ale,  and  asked  the  people  to  drink 
to  the  health  of  King  James. 

494 


Conclusion 

"  For  I  have  not  come  back  to  you  a  renegade,  my 
friends,  but  loyal  to  my  King.  I  swear  to  you  our  King, 
his  Majesty  James  the  Second,  would  not  give  one  rood 
of  English  ground  for  all  of  France,  and  France  is  a 
very  noble  country,  although  the  usurper  who  sits  at 
Whitehall  would  have  you  think  otherwise.  So,  any  of 
you  that  wish  may  inform  on  me,  —  but  here 's  to  his 
Majesty,  King  James ;   God  bless  him  !  " 

And  as  Roger  drank  solemnly  his  own  toast,  taking 
off  his  hat  as  he  did  it,  the  people  huzzaed.  King  Wil- 
liam was  a  heavy  tax  gatherer,  and  no  man  likes  to  pay 
taxes. 

It  was  then  near  midday.  Roger  would  have  preferred 
to  go  alone  to  Egremont ;  he  wished  to  dream,  to  think, 
to  be  in  ecstasies  at  every  step  through  that  well-known 
and  beloved  place ;  but  his  humble  friends  would  by  no 
means  permit  it.  A  rude  procession  was  formed  of  vil- 
lagers, men,  women,  children,  and  dogs,  and  so  they 
marched  along,  with  Roger  on  Merrylegs  at  their  head, 
until  they  reached  the  hall  door.  The  great  house  was 
closed,  and  looked  singularly  forlorn;  the  spring  sun 
glinted  against  the  stone  pile,  and  the  brightness  with- 
out made  the  silence  and  quietness  within  the  more 
apparent.  But  no  white  marble  palace  by  moonlight 
ever  appeared  half  so  beautiful  to  any  one  as  Egremont 
did  to  Roger  then. 

When  the  motley  procession  appeared  on  the  great 
lawn,  a  prim  butler  came  out  from  a  side  door.  He  had 
been  duly  warned  by  the  village  people  many  times  that 
Master  Roger,  a  valorous  man,  who  feared  God,  but  who 
always  took  his  own  part,  would  come  some  day,  and 
turn  Sir  Hugo  out.  Sir  Hugo  had  been  even  more 
effectually  disposed  of,  and  here  was  that  terrible  Master 
Roger. 

495 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"  Open  the  main  door,  and  do  you  and  every  servant 
about  the  house  come  to  me,"  said  Roger. 

The  butler  ran  within,  and  in  a  minute  the  great 
doors  were  flung  wide.  The  few  servants  left,  care- 
takers only,  were  marshalled  in  the  hall,  the  butler  at 
their  head. 

"  Each  one  of  you  is  dismissed  now  and  here  with  a 
month's  wages,"  said  Roger  to  them.  "  I  have  no  fault 
to  find  with  you,  but  no  man  who  served  Hugo  Stein 
can  serve  me.  When  you  are  ready  to  depart,  which 
must  be  within  two  days,  come  to  me  for  your  money, 
and  let  me  not  see  your  faces  while  you  remain.  My 
own  good  people  from  Egremont  shall  serve  me  until 
I  can  get  other  proper  servants." 

There  was  no  ale  or  beer  worth  speaking  of  in  the 
cellars,  although  much  wine,  Sir  Hugo  not  much  relish- 
ing English  drinks  ;  and  so,  to  Roger's  relief,  he  found 
himself  obliged  to  invite  all  his  friends  to  go  to  the 
village  alehouse  for  the  wherewithal  to  drink  his 
health,  and  he  was  at  last  left  alone  at  Egremont. 

So  keen  were  his  emotions  when  the  last  huzzaing 
villager  was  out  of  sight  and  sound  that  he  was  quite 
overcome  with  weakness  and  weariness.  He  walked 
straight  to  his  own  little  room,  a  room  so  small  and 
inconvenient  that  Hugo  Stein  had  scorned  to  improve 
it,  and  there,  locking  the  door  and  throwing  him- 
self into  a  chair,  he  covered  his  face  and  felt  on  his 
cheeks  those  rare,  scalding  tears  that  are  sometimes 
wrung  from  strong  men.  All  of  his  unloved  youth, 
the  wrongs  his  father  had  committed  against  him,  his 
long  misery  of  imprisonment,  his  poverty  and  exile  for 
so  many  years  came  over  him,  and  the  first  hour  he  spent 
at  Egremont  was  among  the  saddest  of  his  whole  life. 
The  past  is  a  ghost  which  cannot  be  laid,  and  when  it  is 

496 


Conclusion 

driven  out  by  a  happy  and  living  present,  it  yet  waits 
and  watches  menacingly,  to  intrude  itself  and  threaten. 
"  Think  not  to  forget  me.  I  am  a  part  of  thee,  and  will 
be  with  thee  as  long  as  sense  and  memory  inhabit  thee." 

Roger  looked  about  him  and  saw  Dicky's  short,  boy- 
ish figure  flitting  from  room  to  room  upstairs  and  down, 
indoors  and  out;  heard  Dicky's  sweet  young  voice,  as 
when  they  had  been  lads  together  there,  heard  the 
vibrant  music  of  Dicky's  violin  in  "Les  Folies  en 
Espagne."  He  rose  and  went  out  of  the  house,  through 
the  well  remembered  path  to  the  Dark  Pool.  He  stood 
bareheaded  by  the  low  mound  where  Dicky  slept  so  peace- 
fully. It  was  quite  green,  although  the  time  was  early 
spring,  but  it  had  been  newly  turfed.  There  was 
nothing  to  mark  it.  Roger  sat  down  by  it,  and  pulled 
up  carefully  some  weeds  that  had  grown  amid  the  soft 
grass.  Could  Dicky  have  but  lived  to  see  that  hour ! 
The  sun  was  shining  upon  it,  the  Dark  Pool  was  not 
dark,  but  full  of  light.  Work,  pain,  death,  —  these 
were  no  more  for  Dicky,  but  joy  and  peace  and  life. 
This  thought  soothed  him.  And  then  Nature,  the 
mighty  mother,  sweetly  spoke  to  him  as  she  had  done 
in  all  that  place  for  so  many  years.  He  listened  to 
the  voice  of  the  laughing,  sobbing,  merry,  melancholy 
river;  he  renewed  his  friendship  with  the  trees,  the 
fields.  Once  more  he  claimed  acquaintance  with  the 
flying  and  creeping  things,  and  the  dun  deer  came 
timidly  forth  and  ate  out  of  his  hand. 

And  that  night  he  slept  sweetly,  ah,  so  sweetly, 
under  his  own  roof,  an  exile  no  more,  and  prayed  and 
swore  in  the  same  breath  that  the  King  should  one  day 
sleep  at  his  palace  of  Whitehall  as  happily  as  he,  Roger 
Egremont,  slept  at  Egremont. 

Next  morning  he  began  his  reign  by  pitching  out  of 
32  497 


The  House  of  Egremont 

the  house  and  making  a  bonfire  on  the  lawn  of  every- 
thing- in  the  house  savoring  of  Hugo  Stein.  The  top  of 
the  pile  was  a  handsome  oil  portrait  of  William  of 
Orange.  Roger  drove  his  foot  through  the  face  before 
burning  it. 

He  then  sat  himself  down,  and  in  his  beautiful  clerkly 
handwriting,  strange  to  all  whom  he  addressed,  he  wrote 
a  letter  to  every  Tory  gentleman  he  knew  in  the  county, 
advising  them  of  his  return,  by  the  advice  and  consent 
of  his  Majesty  James  the  Second,  and  boldly  announc- 
ing that,  if  asked  to  take  the  oaths,  he  should  refuse, 
and  stood  ready  to  go  to  Newgate  again  if  need  were. 
There  was  little  danger,  however.  A  Tory  parliament 
was  giving  King  William  ample  employment  just  then. 
Especially  did  it  concern  itself  with  forcing  upon  him 
the  restitution  of  estates  and  crown  revenues  which  he 
had  bestowed  upon  his  favorites.  And  so  perpetually 
troublesome  had  been  the  Egremonts  that  a  convenient 
blindness  on  the  part  of  the  government  toward  Roger 
Egremont  was  the  only  policy  to  be  pursued.  When 
certain  red-hot  Whigs  in  the  county  informed  some  of 
the  court  people  that  Roger  Egremont  had  inaugurated 
his  new  reign  at  Egremont  by  making  a  bonfire  of  the 
portrait  of  King  William,  given  by  that  Prince  himself 
to  Sir  Hugo,  they  were  met  by  a  strange  indifference,  — 
so  much  so  that  they  felt  no  inclination  to  repeat  other 
disloyal  things  which  Roger  Egremont  said  and  did. 
The  government  shrewdly  suspected  that  this  Jacobite 
gentleman  would  not  object  to  a  persecution,  and  they 
wisely  declined  to  oblige  him. 

On  the  contrary,  an  intimation  from  a  high  quarter 
was  given  him,  that  if  he  did  not  molest  the  Govern- 
ment, the  Government  would  not  molest  him  —  only,  he 
must  not  visit  London,  and  his  comings  and  goings 

498 


Conclusion 

across  the  seas  would  be  watched.  To  this,  Roger  made 
no  objection.  He  had  called  his  tenants  about  him, 
confirmed  such  arrangements  as  seemed  necessary, 
and  on  the  first  quarter-day,  and  every  quarter-day 
thereafter,  the  rents  were  paid  him  without  cavil.  Hugo 
Stein  had  left  no  will,  so  there  was  no  one  to  dispute 
anything  with  Roger,  unless  it  were  King  William  — 
and  that  astute  person  had  larger  affairs  on  hand 
than  the  dispossession  of  one  single  Tory  gentleman. 
Besides,  the  King  was  very  weary  and  tired  of  life, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  his  earthly  troubles  would  soon  be 
overpast  —  and  he  cared  less  than  nothing  for  sister- 
in-law  Anne,  or  who  and  what  she  would  find  in 
England  when  he  was  gone.  So,  partly  from  policy, 
partly  from  lassitude  and  disgust.  King  William  was 
minded  to  let  bygones  be  bygones  with  Roger  Egre- 
mont  —  which  was  better  for  both  than  another  arrest, 
another  state  trial,  and  another  raking  up  of  the  popular 
fury  which  had  attended  the  trials  of  the  Egremonts. 

Roger  Egremont  settled  himself  down  for  a  year  of 
preparation  for  the  greatest  happiness  in  the  world ; 
he  had  no  reason  to  doubt  that  Michelle  was  doing 
the  same  thing.  And  meanwhile  there  was  happiness  in 
finding  himself  once  more  master  of  Egremont.  No 
man  was  ever  less  fitted  for  exile  than  Roger  Egremont. 
His  soul  had  struck  deep  roots  in  the  soil,  the  air,  the 
sky  of  his  native  country.  He  had  always  spoken 
French  with  an  abominable  English  accent,  and  was 
proud  rather  than  ashamed  that  no  language  sat  well 
upon  his  tongue  except  his  own.  And  he  was  now  re- 
stored to  that  spot  so  dearly  loved  and  longed  for,  and 
he  had  everything  to  hope.  Even  King  William's  de- 
clining health  gave  him  great  joy,  for  he  knew  that  the 
Orange  Prince  was  not  to  be  dispossessed  by  any  force 

499 


The  House  of  Egremont 

poor,  feeble  King  James  could  bring  to  bear  against  him. 
Only  the  King  of  kings  could  get  William  of  Orange 
out  of  England,  But  Roger  had  high  hopes  that  God 
would  soon  remove  the  usurping  King  to  Abraham's 
bosom,  and  would  by  no  means  admit  that  any  better 
quarters  in  the  next  world  than  Abraham's  bosom  would 
be  provided  for  him. 

Roger  Egremont  was  extremely  well  received  in  the 
county,  not  only  by  the  Tory  families,  but  by  the  Whigs 
as  well.  For  was  he  not  young  —  not  yet  three  and 
thirty  —  and  rich  ?  For  Hugh  Stein  had  been  a  careful 
manager,  and  albeit  he  had  made  way  with  much  ready 
money,  such  as  the  eight  thousand  pounds  from  the  sale 
of  the  oak  timber,  yet  he  had  not  been  able  to  alienate 
an  acre  of  the  land,  and  he  had  added  several  hundred 
acres  to  the  estate.  Many  Whig  fathers  of  handsome 
daughters  thought  it  would  be  a  righteous  action  to 
make  a  son-in-law  even  of  so  obstinate  a  Tory  as  Roger 
Egremont,  and  convert  him.  So  thought  many  of  the 
daughters,  for  Roger  was  a  soldierly-looking  man,  much 
handsomer  than  he  had  been  in  his  first  youth,  one  who 
had  seen  hard  campaigning,  who  was  familiar  with  for- 
eign courts  and  camps  and  cities,  could  sing  charmingly 
when  he  chose,  which  was  not  often,  and,  better  than  ever, 
"  could  fight,  could  drink,  and  could  be  gallant  to  the 
ladies." 

But  however  gallant  he  might  be  to  the  sex  in  general, 
no  one  could  say  that  he  singled  out  any  fair  one  in 
particular.  He  did  not  frequent  gay  places,  and  went 
not  near  London.  He  wore  black  that  year  for  Dicky, 
and  had  the  poor  lad's  body  laid  in  the  family  vault, 
with  great  honor.  He  had  occasional  short  letters  from 
Bess  Lukens,  and  wrote  her  in  reply  long  answers,  tell- 
ing her  more  than  he  told  any  one  else  of  his  daily  life, 

500 


Conclusion 

his  happenings,  his  hopes,  his  dreams,  and  always  wind- 
ing up  with  saying  that  he  would  be  at  St.  Gerraains 
the  next  March.  This  specific  promise  gave  a  strange 
discomfort  to  Bess  Lukens ;  she  knew  not  why,  and  did 
not  care  to  speculate.  He  wrote  to  Berwick  too,  send- 
ing all  the  political  news  he  could  gather,  and  dwelling 
joyfully  upon  the  fact  that  William  of  Orange  was  said 
to  be  failing  fast,  and  made  no  secret  of  his  hatred  for 
the  English  people  since  they  had  forced  him  to  send  his 
Dutch  guards  home. 

At  Christmas  there  was  much  merry-making  for  the 
tenantry  and  poor  people  at  Egremont,  and  Roger  Egre- 
mont  threw  open  his  house  for  the  first  time  since  his 
return  from  France.  Many  very  ardent  Whig  maidens 
were  inclined  to  forgive  Mr.  Egremont  his  outrageous 
conduct  to  the  present  government,  and  all  of  the  Tory 
young  ladies  thought  him  the  charmingest  fellow  alive. 
To  this  flattering  treatment  Roger  responded  with  the 
most  delightful  gallantry  and  impudence,  but  gave  no 
sign  of  abandoning  his  bachelorhood.  And  the  last  of 
February  he  departed  on  a  mysterious  errand  to  France. 
King  William  was  very  ailing  then,  and  the  Tory  gentle- 
men wished  Mr.  Egremont  to  delay  his  journey  for  a 
few  days,  in  view  of  the  supposed  imminence  of  the 
King's  death.  This,  however,  Mr.  Egremont  declared  he 
could  not  do,  but  he  would  return  almost  immediately, 
feeling  it  his  duty  to  be  in  England,  if  possible,  when 
William  exchanged  Whitehall  for  Abraham's  bosom. 

At  noon,  on  the  sixth  day  after  leaving  Egremont,  he 
knocked  at  the  door  of  the  Scotch  Benedictines  in  Paris. 
He  had  taken  off  his  mourning,  and  wore  a  plain  but 
handsome  riding-dress  of  brown  and  silver. 

In  a  moment  or  two  he  was  walking,  hat  in  hand, 
through  the  long  corridors,  his  masculine  footsteps  re- 

501 


The  House  of  Egremont 

sounding  strangely  in  that  quiet  place.  And  then 
he  was  shown  into  the  garden.  It  was  at  the  back  of  the 
great  building,  and  fronted  south,  so  that,  although  it 
was  but  March,  there  was  something  soft  and  balmy  and 
even  April-like  about  it. 

In  this  sheltered  garden  spot  the  hyacinths  and 
narcissus  were  freshly  blooming,  while  a  great  bed  of 
violets  was  darkly  green,  with  the  violet  buds  showing 
faintly  against  the  polished  leaves.  The  crocuses  were 
peeping  up  shyly,  those  tender  flowers,  the  harbingers 
of  sunshine.  All  these  things  Roger  Egremont  felt 
rather  than  saw,  for  he  had  ever  been  open-eyed  to  the 
pictures  which  Nature  unfolds,  and  attentive  to  her 
lightest  whisper. 

There  was  a  long  box-bordered  walk  through  the 
garden,  and  at  the  end  a  little  circular  place  enclosed 
with  ancient  box  trees.  In  it  was  a  stone  bench  set  upon 
the  mossy  ground,  green,  like  a  carpet.  This  sweet  spot 
was  as  secluded  as  if  it  were  in  the  green  heart  of  the 
woods  at  la  Riviere.  The  sun  shone  radiantly,  and 
standing  full  in  the  golden  light  of  noon  was  Michelle. 
She  still  wore  a  black  gown  and  a  black  hood,  which 
showed  off  the  milky  whiteness  of  her  skin  and  the  dark 
beauty  of  her  eyes.  She  was  standing  with  one  hand 
on  the  back  of  the  stone  bench  as  if  to  support  herself ; 
and  when  her  eyes  fell  on  Roger,  she  advanced  a  step 
and  raised  her  arms,  in  a  motion  like  a  bird  about  to 
begin  its  flight. 

How  Roger  got  over  that  space  between  the  flagged 
walk  and  the  stone  bench  he  never  knew,  —  only,  that 
he  was  holding  her  slender  hands  in  his,  that  her  eyes 
were  downcast,  and  tears  were  falling  upon  her  pale 
cheeks  and  making  crystal  drops  upon  her  black  gown. 
The  first  thought  that  came  into  Roger's  mind  was,  that 

502 


Conclusion 

Michelle  was,  in  truth,  beautiful,  —  far  more  so  than  he 
had  ever  dreamed,  even  in  those  times  of  strange  flow- 
ering out  of  her  beauty,  such  as  on  that  ill-starred  wed- 
ding morning.  She  was  no  longer  in  the  first  flush  of 
her  youth ;  she  was  not  radiant  in  satin  and  blazing  with 
jewels,  but  dressed,  with  a  nun-like  simplicity,  in  black  ; 
agitation  had  driven  the  color  from  her  cheeks ;  but  yet, 
but  yet,  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  first  seen  her,  in 
the  meadows  of  St.  Germains,  Roger  Egremont  thought 
her  absolutely  beautiful. 

Roger  spoke  a  few  incoherent  words,  and  Michelle 
replied,  she  knew  not  what.  Such  a  meeting  as  theirs, 
with  the  recollections  of  seven  years  behind  them,  with 
those  weeks  of  rapture,  mixed  with  anguish,  at  la  Ri- 
viere, standing  out,  glowing  with  delight,  and,  alas ! 
red  with  shame,  —  does  not  bring  the  soft,  unthinking 
joy  which  comes  to  those  who  have  not  suffered  greatly. 
Each  read  the  heart  of  the  other,  and  read  there  shame 
and  sorrow  for  that  one  lapse  from  integrity ;  but  with 
that  remorse  was  a  deep,  deep  thankfulness.  They  had 
escaped  the  actual  wrong-doing,  but  each  had  the  feel- 
ing of  a  person  who  has  walked  blindfold  on  the  edge  of 
a  precipice ;  and  one  single  step  —  it  made  Roger  Egre- 
mont, strong  man  as  he  was,  tremble  at  the  thought  of 
that  one  step  which  would  have  cast  them  both  into  the 
abyss.  And  as  for  Michelle,  innocent  woman  that  she 
was,  she  knew  in  her  heart  what  Magdalen  felt  when 
she  washed  the  feet  of  the  Saviour  with  tears. 

In  a  little  while  the  habit  of  self-command  asserted 
itself.  They  became  outwardly  calm,  and  sat  down  on 
the  bench  together,  and  began  to  examine  each  other 
with  the  tender  furtiveness  of  lovers.  Roger  was  trans- 
formed by  happiness.  He  never  had,  and  never  could 
have,  regular  beauty ;  but  he  had,  in  great  perfection, 

503 


The  House  of  Egremont 

that  masculine  comeliness  which  counts  with  women  far 
more  than  beauty.  He  had  lost  that  look  of  sadness 
which,  in  evil  moments,  changed  to  surliness.  His  eyes 
were  bright  and  glancing,  and  he  showed  his  white  teeth 
often  in  a  smile.  He  was  not  so  sunburned  as  he  had 
been  in  his  campaigning  days,  and  looked  like  a  man 
with  whom  the  world  went  well. 

There  was  little  to  say  of  themselves  after  Roger  had 
said,  — 

"  This  day  a  year  ago  I  sent  you  word  I  would  return 
on  this  day,  and  here  I  am," 

Michelle  understood,  and  for  the  first  time  she  felt 
and  looked  like  a  woman  receiving  her  lover.  She 
blushed  deeply,  the  rich  color  transforming  her,  and  her 
eyes  fell  before  Roger's  gaze.  He  went  on  calmly  ex- 
plaining to  her  the  necessity  for  his  immediate  return. 
It  was  a  Saturday.  He  would  go  direct  to  St.  Germains 
that  night.  The  Sunday  would  suffice  for  such  few 
preparations  as  were  necessary.,  and  for  the  preparation 
of  letters  from  the  powers  at  St.  Germains  to  their  fol- 
lowers in  England;    and  on  the  Monday  morning  — 

Michelle  knew  what  he  meant,  and  her  eloquent  eyes 
assented  so  quickly  that  no  words  were  necessary.  And 
then  Roger  suddenly  said,  — 

"  One  thing  must  I  tell  you.  On  that  last  morning 
at  —  at  la  Riviere,  after  battling  with  myself  the  whole 
night  long,  I  had  the  will,  through  God's  goodness,  to 
take  you  to  Pont-^-Mousson.  But  you  had  already 
gone  ;  you  did  right  first  —  you  always  will  do  it  first." 

Michelle  turned  to  him  with  an  angel's  smile. 

"  Do  you  think,  Roger  Egremont,  that  I  could  see  you 
daily,  and  all  day  long,  for  thirty-seven  days,  and  not 
be  driven  —  yes,  driven,  by  the  undying  soul  of  honor 
in  you,  to  do  the  right  thing,  no  matter  how  late  ?  " 

504 


Conclusion 

Both  were  deeply  agitated. 

Roger  rose  and  walked  about  the  sunny  little  en- 
closed space  to  recover  himself.  Michelle  sat  still,  and 
presently  each  grew  calm.  Then  Roger  came  back,  and, 
seating  himself,  began  to  talk  about  Egremont,  telling 
her  of  the  place,  and  the  changes  he  meant  to  make  for 
her ;  and  they  were  released  from  the  strained  and  in- 
tense emotions  which  had  overpowered  them  by  Mi- 
chelle's saying,  with  a  smile,  — 

"  I  think  you  have  told  me  all  this  about  Egremont 
before." 

And  then  they  laughed,  and  for  the  first  time  felt  as 
they  had  done  before  that  time  at  la  Riviere. 

"  I  can  tell  you  this  one  more  thing  about  Egremont 
and  your  life  there,"  said  Roger,  still  smiling,  but  with 
a  look  in  his  eye  which  meant  determination ;  "  When 
Egremont  and  its  master  are  yours,  you  will  no  longer 
be  a  princess.  I  have  seen  commoners  married  to  women 
of  rank  who  would  not  abate  their  titles,  and  I  never 
envied  those  men.  You  will  be  Madam  Roger  Egre- 
mont, no  more  and  no  less." 

"  Truly,"  answered  Michelle,  "  I  would  not  have 
it  any  other  way."  She  was  faintly  annoyed  with 
Roger  that  he  had  not  waited  a  little  for  her  to  make 
this  gracious  concession,  which  she  fully  meant  to  do, 
and  she  spoke  with  something  of  the  princess  in  her 
voice.  "I  can  no  longer  be  the  Princess  d'Orantia, 
and  that  I  should  be  the  Princess  of  Orlamunde  is  not 
to  be  thought  of.  And  I  meant,  had  you  given  me 
time  and  occasion  to  tell  you,  that  —  that  —  " 

"  To  be  '  Madam  Roger  Egremont,' "  said  Roger, 
finishing  the  sentence  for  her,  and  regretting  the  mis- 
take he  had  made,  "  is  to  be  well  enough  named.  Is 
that  what  you  would  say  ?  " 

505 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"  Yes,"  replied  Michelle,  softly. 

"  But,"  continued  Roger,  taking  her  hand,  "  you  will 
ever  be  a  princess  to  me." 

At  last  it  was  time  to  go,  — that  is,  the  sisters  were 
walking  in  the  garden  for  their  recreation.  Roger, 
when  he  rose,  took  from  his  breast-pocket  a  little  case, 
which  he  handed  to  Michelle.  It  was  a  miniature  of 
himself  which  he  had  caused  to  be  made  for  her.  It 
was  set  round  with  fine  pearls.  While  Michelle's  eyes 
were  fixed  with  delight  upon  the  miniature,  Roger  said : 
*'  Those  pearls  are  part  of  a  string  which  belonged  to 
my  mother.  I  found  them  in  Hugo  Stein's  strong-box 
at  Egremont,  and  I  wished  that  you  should  have  some- 
thing which  had  been  my  mother's."  Then,  with  an 
elaborate  air  of  making  a  clean  breast  of  it,  he  took  out 
a  little  brooch,  small,  but  very  beautiful,  of  brilliants. 

"  This,"  he  said,  "  is  for  Bess  Lukens.  It  too  be- 
longed to  my  mother,  —  and  I  thought,  considering 
Bess  Lukens's  services  to  my  family,  it  would  be  a  rec- 
ognition which  the  poor  girl  would  value,  if  I  gave  her 
something  which  had  an  association, — a  sentiment, 
a  —  " 

Roger  stopped  short.  His  look  and  manner  were  as 
nearly  awkward  as  a  graceful  man's  could  be,  —  but  the 
expression  of  Michelle's  eyes  was  a  little  disconcerting. 
He  always  appeared  ridiculous  in  his  own  eyes  when- 
ever he  spoke  of  one  of  those  two  women  to  the  other. 

"  It  is  very  pretty,"  was  Michelle's  reply.  "  And,  as 
you  say,  she  deserves  something  at  your  hands.  Was  it 
not  noble  of  her  to  go  to  England  when  Father  Egre- 
mont was  imprisoned?  " 

Her  words  were  warm,  but  there  was  that  curious 
coldness  in  her  eyes  with  which  a  woman  praises  a  sus- 
pected rival. 

506 


Conclusion 

"  She  is  one  of  the  finest  creatures  in  the  world," 
cried  Roger,  with  great  sincerity,  —  and  Michelle  agreed 
with  him  promptly,  her  lips  smiling,  but  her  eyes  very 
cold  and  unmoved.  She  had  ever  paid  Bess  Lukens 
the  compliment  of  being  jealous  of  her. 

Michelle  led  the  way  to  a  little  garden  door  which 
let  Roger  out  into  the  street  without  passing  through 
the  convent.  Merrylegs  was  stamping  outside.  Some- 
thing passed,  —  one  hurried  kiss,  —  which  no  eyes  but 
those  of  Merrylegs  saw,  and  Roger,  flinging  himself 
into  the  saddle,  went  clattering  down  the  stony  street. 
Michelle  listened  as  long  as  she  could  distinguish  the 
hoof  beats,  —  and  then,  going  back  to  the  little  sunny 
place  with  the  stone  bench,  sat  and  dreamed  for  long 
over  every  word  he  had  spoken,  every  look  of  his  bold 
eyes,  every  tone  of  his  voice,  —  and  afterwards  going 
into  the  chapel  prayed  fervently  a  long  time. 

Meanwhile  Roger  went  straight  to  Papa  Mazet's 
house ;  clearly  his  first  duty,  after  seeing  Michelle, 
was  to  go  to  see  Bess  Lukens.  But  all  the  way  he  was 
thinking  to  himself  that  it  was  a  Saturday  afternoon, 
and  perhaps  Bess  had  gone  to  St.  Germains,  as  she  often 
did,  to  spend  the  Sunday  with  Madame  Michot ;  and 
if  he  did  not  go  to  Madame  Michot's  until  the  next 
afternoon,  she  might  have  left  for  Paris  ;  and  meanly 
and  cravenly  he  hoped  it  would  so  fall  out,  —  so  mean 
and  craven  sometimes  is  even  a  brave  and  honorable 
man  where  women  are  concerned. 

Bess  Lukens  had  indeed  gone  to  St.  Germains, 
Roger  went  in,  talked  awhile  kindly  with  the  two  old 
Mazets,  and  then  struck  out  for  St.  Germains.  He 
reached  there  at  sunset,  and,  as  in  duty  bound,  re- 
ported straightway  at  the  palace,  —  his  duty  jumped 
with  his  humor  in  this. 

507 


The  House  of  Egremont 

He  was  very  warmly  received,  his  letters  read  with 
avidity,  and  Berwick,  who  was  at  Marly,  two  miles  off, 
was  sent  for.  He  was  charmed  to  see  Roger.  The  two 
men  embraced,  and  Roger  told  the  gladsome  news  of  all 
the  aches  and  pains  which  racked  poor  King  William's 
body.  And  then,  the  King  urging  upon  Roger  the 
necessity  of  immediate  return  to  England,  Roger  smiled 
and  craved  permission  to  remain,  and  be  married  early 
on  the  Monday  morning  to  the  Princess  Michelle.  To 
this,  the  King  gave  his  joyful  consent,  and  sending  for 
the  Queen  told  her  the  pleasant  story,  —  and  there  were 
more  congratulations.  Berwick  got  orders  to  go  to 
Marly  by  sunrise,  with  a  letter  from  King  James,  ask- 
ing the  approval  of  his  brother  of  France  to  the  mar- 
riage, and  Berwick  was  charged  with  making  all  things 
ready,  and  going  with  Frangois  Delaunay  after  Mi- 
chelle, on  the  Sunday  afternoon,  —  all  of  which  Berwick 
swore  on  his  honor  should  be  done. 

A  man  cannot  without  much  hard  work  prepare  in  a 
single  day  to  be  married  and  go  a  journey.  Therefore 
it  is  not  strange  that  it  was  near  five  o'clock  on  the 
Sunday  afternoon  before  Roger  Egremont  had  a  moment 
in  which  to  go  to  the  inn  of  Michot.  He  still  harbored 
the  craven  wish  that  Bess  might  be  gone  to  Paris  by 
that  time  ;  and,  thinking  this,  he  turned  into  the  forest 
from  the  town,  meaning  to  go  that  way  to  the  inn,  in- 
stead of  by  the  terrace,  crowded  with  people  on  Sunday. 

He  was  walking  through  the  forest,  toward  the  slop- 
ing hillside  at  the  end  of  the  terrace,  when  suddenly, 
under  the  dappled  shadows  of  the  trees  in  which  the 
buds  were  springing,  he  came  face  to  face  with  Bess 
Lukens.  She  was,  as  usuall}'-,  very  richly  dressed, 
and  her  velvet  hat  and  feathers  shading  her  glowing 
complexion  and  liquid,  red-brown  eyes,  brought  out  the 

508 


Conclusion 

deep  tints  of  both,  as  well  as  the  warm  color  of  the  little 
auburn  curls  that  clustered  about  the  nape  of  her  white 
neck.  A  white  satin  mantle  hung,  with  graceful  abandon 
over  one  beautifully  formed  shoulder,  while,  with  her 
other  hand,  she  held  up  her  train  of  purple  silk.  Never 
had  Bess  Lukens  looked  handsomer,  and  never  had 
her  brilliant  coloring  and  splendid  attire  contrasted  more 
strongly,  in  Roger's  mind,  with  Michelle's  chastened 
loveliness  and  nun-like  black  garb. 

Bess's  bright  face  lighted  up  radiantly  at  the  sight  of 
Roger  Egremont,  and  then  as  suddenly  paled.  She 
remembered  that  he  had  said  he  would  return  in  a  year 
precisely,  and  it  was  just  a  year,  and  Michelle's  year 
of  widowhood  had  expired;  all  these  thoughts  rushed 
into  Bess's  mind  while  Roger  was  warmly  greeting  her, 
and  wondering  just  how  short  a  time  he  could  decently 
spend  with  her. 

"  I  have  much  to  say  to  you,  Bess,"  he  said.  "  Let 
us  turn  off  into  this  quiet  path,  where  there  is  a  bench." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Bess,  leading  the  way  and  seating  her- 
self. "  I  was  sitting  in  this  very  place  that  night  you 
passed  me  by  near  eight  years  ago,  when  I  so  frightened 
you  by  drawing  my  sword  on  you." 

"  How  different  all  is  now  with  both  of  us,  —  as  differ- 
ent as  the  seasons.  Then  it  was  summer  time  and  so 
shaded  one  could  scarcely  see  the  sun  at  noon-day. 
Now,  there  is  scarce  a  leaf  in  sight,  but  spring  is  coming ; 
it  is  coming  fast ;  I  feel  it  in  my  blood." 

Then  he  asked  her  about  herself.  It  was  the  same 
story,  simply  and  straightforwardly  told.  Mamma 
Mazet  was  becoming  childish  in  mind ;  Papa  Mazet  was 
failing  fast,  but  both  the  old  people  were  happy  and 
satisfied,  and  wanted  for  nothing. 

"  And  God  is  good  enough  to  let  me  repay  them  for 
509 


The  House  of  Egremont 

all  their  kindness  to  me  by  being  a  little  kind  to  them 
in  their  old  age,"  she  said. 

"  I  can  never  repay  you  for  your  kindness  to  me  and 
to  my  dear  Dicky,  but  I  can  at  least  show  you  that  I 
remember  it,"  said  Roger.  "  And  if  you  will  but  come 
to  Egremont —  " 

There  was  something  in  Roger  Egremont's  face  and 
manner  different  from  anything  Bess  had  ever  seen  in 
him,  and  she  knew  him  well.  There  was  a  joyousness 
and  still  a  quietness,  a  gentleness  and  yet  an  exaltation. 
Looking  at  him,  Bess  could  scarcely  recall  those  first 
days  in  which  she  had  known  him,  when  he  had  made 
the  corridors  of  Newgate  ring  with  his  oaths,  his  ribald 
songs,  his  drunkenness —  Alas,  let  us  say  no  more 
about  it;  he  had  atoned  for  it. 

Presently,  as  they  sat  talking,  Roger  took  from  his 
breast  a  small  packet,  and  taking  from  it  the  little 
brooch  of  brilliants  handed  it  to  Bess. 

"  This,  Bess"  he  said,  "  belonged  to  my  mother.  I  do 
not  remember  her,  but  I  reverence  everything  that  was 
hers.  And  so  I  brought  you  this  from  Egremont,  ask- 
ing you  to  wear  it  as  a  token  of  the  gratitude  of  the 
Egremonts." 

Bess's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  although  her  wide,  hand- 
some mouth  came  open  in  a  happy  smile.  This,  indeed, 
was  gratifying  to  her  pride.  Bess  Lukens,  the  turn- 
key's niece,  reckoned  worthy  to  wear  an  ornament  which 
had  belonged  to  one  of  the  ladies  of  Egremont !  She 
kissed  the  brooch,  pinned  it  proudly  on  her  breast,  and 
then  turned  her  eyes  full  on  Roger.  And  she  saw  in 
his  countenance  a  painful  constraint,  a  hesitation  in 
meeting  her  eye ;  verily,  the  bravest  man  who  walks  the 
earth  is  a  coward  and  a  poltroon  where  there  are  two 
women  in  the  case. 

510 


Conclusion 

"  And  how  long  do  you  remain  in  France,  Roger  ? " 
she  said. 

There  was  a  pause  before  Roger  spoke.  A  little  wind 
bent  the  young  boughs  above  them,  and  even  this  slight 
sound  was  heard  in  the  perfect  stillness.  It  was  so  long 
before  Roger  answered  that  Bess  turned  her  beautiful 
face  fuller  toward  him.  He  had  a  strange  sense  of 
being  about  to  deal  cruelly  with  her,  a  sense  so  poignant 
and  painful  that  he  was  moved  to  be  over  with  it 
quickly,  and  he  said,  — 

"  I  am  to  be  married  to  the  Princess  Michelle  at 
seven  o'clock  to-morrow  morning." 

There  was  not  a  sound.  Bess  continued  to  look  at 
him,  the  blood  slowly  leaving  her  face.  That  feeling 
of  pity  for  her,  and  pain  at  the  thought  of  her  pain, 
made  it  impossible  for  Roger  to  meet  her  glance.  He 
looked  another  way.  The  only  sign  of  emotion  she 
gave  was  her  quickened  breathing;  it  was  as  if  she 
caught  her  breath  in  gasps.  After  five  minutes,  which 
seemed  to  Roger  Egremont  an  hour,  Bess  spoke  in  a 
voice  that  slightly  trembled. 

"  I  can  truly  say,  God  bless  thee  and  make  thee  for- 
ever happy." 

Then  there  was  another  pause.  After  she  had  spoken, 
she  became  more  agitated,  and  in  her  struggle  to  regain 
her  composure  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  walked  toward 
the  chateau.  Roger  rose  too,  and  that  piercing  feeling 
of  pity  for  her  made  him  keep  by  her  side.  Without  a 
word  they  passed  through  the  forest  glades,  and  when 
they  came  to  the  edge  of  the  woods  they  stopped.  Bess's 
eyes  sought  Roger's  with  a  troubled  expression. 

"  Why  have  I  brought  you  here  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I 
forget."  Then,  recovering  herself,  she  said  in  a  calm 
voice,  — 

511 


The  House  of  Egremont 

"  I  remember  now.  There  are  vespers  at  six  o'clock 
in  the  chapel,  and  the  King  and  Queen  like  to  hear  me 
sing  with  the  congregation.  The  others  sing  softly 
when  I  begin.     'Tis  there  I  am  bound." 

They  went  on  in  silence. 

As  they  came  within  sight  of  the  clock  over  the  gate- 
way of  the  old  palace,  Roger  saw  that  it  was  six  o'clock, 
and  the  sweet  spring  afternoon  was  closing  in.  He 
walked  with  Bess  through  the  courtyard  and  to  the 
chapel  door.  There  was  close  by  a  stair,  narrow,  dark, 
and  winding,  which  led  to  the  organ  loft.  Already  there 
was  a  whisper  of  music  from  the  organ  floating  through 
the  white  arches  of  the  chapel.  At  this  door,  where 
Bess  and  Roger  stood  alone  in  the  waning  light,  she 
turned  to  him.  It  was  dusky  where  he  stood,  and  the 
outlines  of  her  fair  face  were  not  perfectly  clear  to  him, 
but  her  red-brown  eyes  shone  with  a  lambent  light,  both 
bright  and  soft ;  their  expression  reminded  him  of  some- 
thing far  away  in  time  and  distance,  —  the  eyes  of  a 
partridge,  caught  and  hurt  in  a  trap  at  Egremont ;  he 
had  in  mercy  killed  the  poor  creature.  He  felt  un- 
nerved under  that  soft  gaze,  with  its  mute,  involuntary 
reproach. 

"  Good-bye,  Roger,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  clear  and 
soft,  and  very  unlike  her  usual  tones,  which  were 
ringing  and  rich  with  life  and  humor  and  courage. 
"When  the  vespers  are  over  do  not  wait  for  me.  I 
shall  go  through  the  park  alone ;  I  am  not  afraid. 
'T  is  our  last  meeting  before  you  are  married,  perhaps 
our  very  last ;  so  I  say,  God  bless  thee,  —  if  a  blessing 
is  of  any  good  from  such  an  imperfect  creature  as  Bess 
Lukens.  We  have  lived  the  importantest  part  of 
our  lives  together.  I  was  but  the  turnkey's  niece, 
and  you  were  an  unlettered  country  gentleman  when 

.    512 


Conclusion 

we  were  first  acquainted  in  Newgate  gaol.  Since 
then,  both  of  us  have  had  good  fortune;  yours  is  but 
beginning,  I  hope.  But  those  we  know  in  our  dark 
time,  and  by  whose  side  we  live  and  fight  and  con- 
quer and  are  sometimes  overthrown,  are  always  more 
to  us  than  those  we  know  in  the  pleasant  primrose 
path.  So  I  think  you  will  no  more  forget  me  than  I 
shall  forget  you." 

"Truly,"  replied  Roger;  "if  I  forget  you,  Bess  Lu- 
kens,  may  God  forget  me." 

She  went  noiselessly  up  the  stair,  and  her  figure 
melted  away  in  the  darkness.  Roger  Egremont  walked 
into  the  chapel  and  seated  himself  in  a  dark  corner.  All 
the  church  was  dusk,  except  the  altar,  where  two  candles 
twinkled  and  the  sanctuary  lamp  burned  steadily  and 
softly.  A  few  persons  came  in  quietly,  the  King  lean- 
ing upon  the  arm  of  the  Queen,  who  gently  supported 
him  to  his  armchair.  The  priest  came  out  on  the 
altar,  and  the  golden  voice  of  the  organ  was  uplifted. 
Roger  listened  for  the  echo  of  those  glorious  tones 
of  Bess  Lukens's  in  the  psalms,  but  he  heard  them 
not.  The  church  was  quite  dark,  but  as  the  music 
swelled  and  died  two  little  acolytes  in  white  cassocks, 
and  with  faces  like  angels,  came  out  and  lighted  all 
the  candles  on  the  altar,  making  a  glory  of  light  in 
the  holy  place.  And  then,  with  a  mighty  rush  of 
melody  from  organ  and  voices,  came  the  Magnificat. 
Bess's  voice,  more  pure,  more  sweet,  more  thrilling 
than  Roger  Egremont  had  ever  heard  it,  rose  above 
the  waves  of  music. 

"  My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord,  and  my  spirit  re- 
joices in  God,  my  Saviour."  He  translated  to  himself 
the  sonorous  Latin  hymn;  it  was  as  if  Bess  Lukens 
spoke  it  to  him,  instead  of  singing  it  with  the  other 
33  513 


The  House  of  Egremont 

voices  in  the  choir  and  congregation.  It  breathed  of 
hope,  of  gladness,  of  peace,  of  a  willingness  to  suffer,  of 
joy  in  doing  rightly,  of  all  that  the  human  soul  should 
feel  which  lives  not  for  itself,  but  for  something  higher. 
No  one  need  pity  Bess  Lukens,  a  woman  so  strong,  so 
tender,  so  truly  humble  in  heart,  who,  beginning  with 
all  the  burdens  that  could  drag  a  woman  downward,  had 
yet  contrived  to  uplift  herself,  —  soul,  mind,  heart, — 
and  would  go  on,  becoming  better  herself  and  mak- 
ing others  better.  So  thought  Roger  Egremont  when 
the  music  died  away,  the  priest  left  the  altar,  every 
human  being  but  himself  went  out  of  the  church,  and 
he  remained  to  think  reverently  and  tenderly  of  her 
who  had  been  a  friend  when  he  most  needed  one, 
and  whom  he  had  once  reckoned  so  far  beneath  him 
that  he  was  ashamed  to  own  that  he  knew  her,  and 
now  he  justly  counted  so  far,  so  far  above  him! 

Next  morning,  at  sunrise,  Roger  Egremont  and  Mi- 
chelle were  married  in  the  old  chapel.  There  was  but 
a  handful  of  persons  present ;  the  King  and  Queen,  as 
became  the  master  and  mistress  of  faithful  servants,  Ber- 
wick, the  Duchess  de  Beaumanoir,  and  Francois,  —  not 
a  dozen  in  all.  When  the  benediction  had  been  pro- 
nounced, and  Roger  Egremont  and  his  wife  walked  out 
of  the  chapel,  the  sun  was  just  blazing  over  the  tree  tops 
in  the  forest ;  the  gorgeous  pennons  of  the  day  were  ad- 
vancing over  all  the  earth.  A  delicate  silver  haze  lay 
over  the  low-lying  meadows  through  which  the  river 
flowed  mysteriously,  sometimes  showing  itself,  and  then 
veiling  itself  in  misty  splendor.  The  shrill,  sweet 
song  of  birds  rang  softly  from  those  fair  meadows ; 
it  was  far  away,  and  the  echoes  were  faint,  as  if  they 
came  from  elfland.     One  happy  bird,  cutting  the  blue 

514 


Conclusion 

air  with  joyous  wing,  burst  into  a  rapture  of  song, 
and  rose  far,  far,  far  into  the  eastern  sky,  until  it 
seemed  to  be  singing  at  the  very  gates  of  the  morning. 
A  wind  from  heaven  blew  over  the  green  earth.  It 
was  the  spring. 


515 


Other  Books  by  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELL 

THE  HISTORY  o///6^ 
LADY  BETTY  STAIR 

Illustrated  by  THULE  DE  THULSTRUP 
In  an  original  binding  similar  to  "The 
Sprightly  Romance  of  Marsac."   i2mo.  $1.25 

Instinct  with  an  atmosphere  of  delicate 
feeling  such  as  few  historical  romances 
possess.  —  The  Bookman. 
A  romance  in  which  the  author  takes  her 
history  with  a  light  heart  and  weaves  it 
into  her  text  with  seeming  carelessness, 
but  the  last  effect  is  one  of  truth  and  ani- 
mation. The  style  is  spirited,  the  tone 
of  the  book  gently  and  truly  romantic.  — 
New  York  Tribune. 
An  altogether  charming  and  artistically  told  story.  —  The 
Outlook. 

A  captivating  and  ennobling  little  romance  is  "  The  History 
of  the  Lady  Betty  Stair."  Dainty  illustrations  by  Thulstrup 
add  to  the  attractiveness  of  the  book.  —  The  Congregationalist. 

A  story  of  true  love  beautifully  set  in  a  century-old  environ- 
ment. —  Hartford  Courant. 

Like  an  exquisite  bit  of  old  china  is  this  delicately  limned 
romance.  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

It  is  not  often  that  we  come  upon  a  love  story  so  dainty,  so 
artistic  as  **  The  History  of  the  Lady  Betty  Stair."  It  is  one 
of  the  sweetest,  simplest  love  tales  that  has  come  to  us  for  many 
a  day.  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  Publishers 


Other  books  by  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELL 


THE 

Sprightly  Romance  of  Mar  sac 

Illustrated  by  GU STAY   VERBEEK 
izmo.     $1.25 

MARSAC  is  a  real  dis- 
covery of  Miss  Sea- 
well's.  His  character  is 
but  hinted  at  in  the  epithet 
"  sprightly,"  and  the  way  in 
which  the  wit  and  good 
nature  of  this  Bohemian 
of  the  Latin  Quarter  triumph  over  adverse  circum- 
stances and  land  him  and  his  friend  Fontaine  in 
affluence  and  bliss  is  set  forth  in  a  remarkably  brisk 
narrative  that  recalls  Miirger.  The  illustrations  are 
numerous  and  as  cleverly  conceived  and  executed  as 
the  story. 

One  of  the  brightest  and  most  sparkling  stories  of  last  year.  — 

Detroit  Free  Press. 

A  particularly  bright  little  tale.  —  Philadelphia  Times. 


Paul  Jones 
Richard  Dale 
Thomas  Thurston 
■William  Bainbridge 
Edward  Preble 
Stephen  Decatur 
Richard  Somers 
Isaac  Hull 
Charles  Stewart 
Oliver  Hazard  Perry 
Thomas  McDonough 
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T'welve  Naval  Captains 

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sel'ves  immortal.      TVitb  portraits.      i2mo.     $I.2J 

A  capital  collection  of  yarns.  .  .  .  She  tells 
the  story  of  her  heroes  in  an  admirable  tone 
of  impartiality  ;  she  has  a  serviceable  com- 
mand of  nautical  language,  and  for  anything 
smacking  of  the  heroic  a  bright  enthusiasm 
that  is  quite  contagious.  —  The  Academy. 


CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS,  Publishers 


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